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I 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE. 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  AND  OTHER 
STORIES  BY  BEATRICE  HARRA- 
DEN,  AUTHOR  OF  "SHIPS  THAT  PASS 
IN  THE  NIGHT,"  "IN  VARYING 
MOODS,"  ETC. 


CHICAGO 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO. 

407-425   DEARBORN    ST. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 7 


AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 43 

CHAPTER  I. 
HiERONYMUS  Comes 4c 

v^  CHAPTER  n. 

i\      HiERONYMUS  Stays ^^ 

"^  CHAPTER  HI. 

Vsy      The  Primary  Glory 67 

;  CHAPTER  IV. 

^     The  Making  OF  THE  Pastry 81 

Cv  CHAPTER  V. 

\      Pastry  and  Personal  Monarchy 89 

CHAPTER  VI. 

VI    The  Exciseman's    Library 102 

.^-  5 


427883 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  6 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Auntie  Lloyd  Protests no 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Distance  Grows ii6 

CHAPTER  IX. 
David  Laments 127 

CHAPTER  X. 
HiERONYMUS  Speaks 137 

CHAPTER  XI. 
HiERONYMUS  Goes 147 

AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 159 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE. 

BY    BEATRICE    HARRADEN. 

It  was  about  four  in  the  afternoon  when  a 
young  girl  came  into  the  salon  of  the  little 
hotel  at  C.  in  Switzerland,  and  drew  her 
chair  up  to  the  fire. 

"You  are  soaked  through,"  said  an  elderly 
lady,  who  was  herself  trying  to  get  roasted. 
"You  ought  to  lose  no  time  in  changing  your 
clothes." 

"I  have  not  anything  to  change," said  the 
young  girl,  laughing.  "Oh,  I  shall  soon  be 
dry." 

"Have  you  lost  all  your  luggage.''"  asked 
the  lady  sympathetically. 

"No,"  said  the  young  girl,  "I  had  none  to 
lose."     And  she  smiled  a  little  mischievously. 


8  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

as  though  she  4iaew  by  instinct  that  her  com- 
panion's sympathy  would  at  once  degenerate 
into  suspicion'! 

"I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  have  not  a 
knapsack,"  she  added  considerately.  "I  have 
walked  a  long  distance — in  fact  from  Z." 

"And  where  did  you  leave  your  compan- 
ions?" asked  the  lady,  with  a  touch  of  for- 
giveness in  her  voice. 

"I  am  without  companions,  just  as  I  am 
without  luggage,"  laughed  the  girl. 

And  then  she  opened  the  piano,  and  struck 
a  few  notes.  There  was  something  caressing 
in  the  way  in  which  she  touched  the  keys; 
whoever  she  was,  she  knew  how  to  make 
sweet  music;  sad  music  too,  full  of  that  un- 
definable  longing, like  the  holding  out  of  one's 
arms  to  one's  friends  in  the  hopeless  distance. 

The  lady  bending  over  the  fire  looked-  up 
at  the  little  girl,  and  forgot  that  she  had 
brought  neither  friends  nor  luggage  with  her. 
She  hesitated  for  one  moment,  and  then   she 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGb  9 

took  the  childish  face  between  her  hands  and 
kissed  it. 

"Thank  you,  dear,  for  your  music,"  she 
said  gently. 

"The  piano  is  terribly  out  of  tune,"  said 
the  little  girl  suddenly,  and  she  ran  out  of 
the  room  and  came  back  carrying  her  knap- 
sack. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  her 
companion. 

"I  am  going  to  tune  the  piano,"  the  little 
girl  said;  and  she  took  a  tuning-hammer  out 
of  her  knapsack,  and  began  her  work  in  real 
earnest.  She  evidently  knew  what  she  was 
about,  and  pegged  away  at  the  notes  as  though 
her  whole  life  depended  on  the  result. 

The  lady  by  the  fire  was  lost  in  amaze- 
ment. Who  could  she  be.?  Without  luggage 
and  without  friends,  and  with  a  tuning  ham- 
mer! 

Meanwhile  one  of  the  gentlemen  had 
strolled    into    the    salon;    but     hearing    the 


10  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

sound  of  tuning,  and  being  in  secret  posses- 
sion of  nerves,  he  fled,  saying,  "The  tuner,  by 
Jove!" 

A  few  minutes  afterwards.  Miss  Blake, 
whose  nerves  were  no  secret  possession, 
hastened  into  the  salon,  and  in  her  usual 
imperious  fashion  demanded  silence. 

"I  have  just  done,"  said  the  little  girl. 
"The  piano  was  so  terribly  out  of  tune,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation." 

Miss  Blake,  who  never  listened  to  what 
any  one  said,  took  it  for  granted  that  the  lit- 
tle girl  was  the  tuner  for  whom  M.  le  Pro- 
prietaire  had  promised  to  send;  and  having 
bestowed  upon  her  a  condescending  nod, 
passed  out  into  the  garden,  where  she  told 
some  of  the  visitors  that  the  piano  had  been 
tuned  at  last,  and  that  the  tuner  was  a  young 
woman  of  rather  eccentric  appearance. 

"Really  it  is  quite  abominable  how  women 
thrust  themselves  into  every  profession,"  she 
remarked  in  her  masculine  voice.  "It  is  so 
unfeminine,  so  unseemly." 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  11 

There  was  nothing  of  the  feminine  about 
Miss  Blake:  her  horse-cloth  dress,  her  waist- 
coat and  high  collar,  and  her  billy-cock  hat 
were  of  the  mascuHne  genus;  even  her  nerves 
could  not  be  called  feminine,  since  we  learn 
from  two  or  three  doctors  (taken  off  their 
guard)  that  nerves  are  neither  feminine  nor 
masculine,  but  common. 

"I  should  like  to  see  this  tuner,"  said  one 
of  the  tennis  players,  leaning  against  a  tree. 

"Here  she  comes,"  said  Miss  Blake,  as  the 
little  girl  was  seen  sauntering,  into  the  gar- 
den. 

The  men  put  up  their  eye-glasses,  and  saw 
a  little  lady  with  a  childish  face  and  soft 
brown  hair,  of  strictly  feminine  appearance 
and  bearing.  The  goat  came  toward  her 
and  began  nibbling  at  her  frock.  She  seemed 
to  understand  the  manner  of  goats,  and  played 
with  him  to  his  heart's  content.  One  of  the 
tennis  players,  Oswald  Everard  by  name, 
strolled  down  to  the  bank  where  she  was 
having  her  frolic. 


12  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"Good  afternoon,"  he  said,  raising  his  cap. 
"I  hope  the  goat  is  not  worrying  you.  Poor 
little  fellow!  This  is  his  last  day  of  play. 
He  is  to  be  killed  to-morrow  for  table  d'h  te." 

"What  a  shame!"  she  said.  "Fancy  to  be 
killed,  and  then  grumbled  at!" 

"That  is  precisely  what  we  do  here,"  he 
said,  laughing.  "We  grumble  at  everything 
we  eat.  And  I  own  to  being  one  of  the 
grumpiest;  though  the  lady  in  the  horse-cloth 
dress  yonder  follows   close   upon    my  heels." 

"She  was  the  lady  who  was  annoyed  at  me 
because  I  tuned  the  piano,"  the  little  girl  said. 
"Still  it  had  to  be  done.  It  was  plainly  my 
duty.  I  seemed  to  have  come  for  that  pur- 
pose." 

"It  has  been  confoundedly  annoying  having 
it  out  of  tune,"  he  said.  "I've  had  to  give  up 
singing  altogether.  But  what  a  strange  pro- 
fession you  have  chosen!  Very  unusual,  isn't 
it.>" 

"Why,  surely  not,"  she  answered,  amused. 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  13 

"It  seems  to  me  that  every  other  woman  has 
taken  to  it.  The  wonder  to  me  is  that  any 
one  ever  scores  a  success.  Nowadays,  how- 
ever, no  one  could  amass  a  huge  fortune  out 
of  it." 

"No  one,  indeed!"  replied  Oswald  Everard, 
laughing,  "What  on  earth  made  you  take 
to  it  ?" 

"It  took  to  me,"  she  said  simply.  "It 
wrapt  me  round  with  enthusiasm.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  I  vowed  that  I  would 
rise  to  the  top  of  my  profession.  I  worked 
day  and  night.  But  it  means  incessant  toil  for 
years  if  one  wants  to  make  any  headway." 
"Good  gracious!  I  thought  it  was  merely 
a  matter  of  a  few  months,"  he  said,  smiling 
at  the  little  girl. 

"A  few  months!"  she  repeated  scornfully. 
"You  are  speaking  the  language  of  an  ama- 
teur. No;  one  has  to  work  faithfully  year 
after  year,  to  grasp  the  possibilities  and  pass 
on  to  greater  possibilities.   You  imagine  what 


14  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

it  must  feel  like  to  touch  the  notes,  and  know 
that  you  are  keeping  the  listeners  spellbound ; 
that  you  are  taking  them  into  a  fairyland  of 
sound,  where  petty  personality  is  lost  in  vague 
longing  and  regret." 

"I  confess  that  I  had  not  thought  of  it  in 
that  way,"  he  said  humbly.  "I  have  only  re- 
garded it  as  a  necessary  everyday  evil;  and 
to  be  quite  honest  with  you,  I  fail  to  see  now 
how  it  can  inspire  enthusiasm.  I  wish  I  could 
see,"  he  added,  looking  up  at  the  engaging 
little  figure  before  him. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said,  laughing  at  his 
distress;  "I  forgive  you.  And  after  all,  you 
are  not  the  only  person  who  looks  upon  it  as 
a  necessary  evil.  My  poor  guardian  abomi- 
nated it.  He  made  many  sacrifices  to  come 
and  listen  to  me.  He  knew  I  liked  to  see 
his  kind  old  face,  and  that  the  presence  of  a 
real  friend  inspired  me  with  confidence." 

"I  should  not  have  thought  it  was  nervous 
work,"  he  said. 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  ^5 

"Try  it  and  see,"  she  answered.  "But 
surely  you  spoke  of  singing.  Are  you  not 
nervous  when  you  sing?" 

"Sometimes."  he  repHed,  rather  stiffly. 
-But  that  is  slightly  different."  (He  was 
very  proud  of  his  singing,  and  made  a  great 
fuss  about  it.)  "Your  profession,  as  I  re- 
marked before,  is  an  unavoidable  nuisance. 
When  I  think  what  I  have  suffered  from 
the  gentlemen  of  your  profession,  I  only 
wonder  that  I  have  any  brains  left.  But  I 
am  uncourteous." 

"No.  no,"  she  said.  "Let  me  hear  about 
your  sufferings." 

"Whenever  I  have  specially  wanted  ^to  be 
quiet,"  he  said;  and  then  he  glanced  at  her 
childish  little  face,  and  he  hesitated.  "It 
seems  so  rude  of  me,"  he  added.  He  was  the 
soul  of  courtesy,  although  he  was  an  amateur 

tenor  singer. 

"Please  tell  me,"  the  little  girl  said,  m  her 

winning  way. 


16  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"Well,"  he  said,  gathering  himself  together, 
"it  is  the  one  subject  on  which  I  can  be  elo- 
quent. Ever  since  I  can  remember  I  have 
been  worried  and  tortured  by  those  rascals. 
I  have  tried  in  every  way  to  escape  from 
them,  but  there  is  no  hope  for  me.  Yes;  I 
believe  that  all  the  tuners  in  the  universe  are 
in  league  against  me,  and  have  marked  me  out 
for  their  special   prey." 

''All the  ivhatr'  asked  the  little  girl,  with 
a  jerk  in  her  voice, 

"All  the  tuners,  of  course,"  he  replied, rather 
snappishly.  "I  know  that  we  cannot  do  with- 
out them;  but,  good  heavens!  they  have  no 
tact,  no  consideration,  no  mercy.  Whenever 
I've  wanted  to  write  or  read  quietly  that  fatal 
knock  has  come  at  the  door,  and  I've  known 
by  instinct  that  all  chance  of  peace  was  over. 
Whenever  I've  been  giving  a  luncheon  party, 
the  tuner  has  arrived,  with  his  abominable 
black  bag,  and  his  abominable  card,  which  has 
to  be  signed  at  once.    On  one  occasion  I  was 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  17 

just  proposing  to  a  girl  in  her  father's  library, 
when  the  tuner  struck  up  in  the  drawing- 
room.  I  left  off  suddenly,  and  fled  from  the 
house.  But  there  is  no  escape  from  these 
fiends;  I  believe  they  are  swarming  about  in 
the  air  like  so  many  bacteria.  And  how,  in 
the  name  of  goodness,  you  should  deliberately 
choose  to  be  one  of  them,  and  should  be  so 
enthusiastic  over  your  work,  puzzles  me  be- 
yond all  words.  Don't  say  that  you  carry  a 
black  bag,  and  present  cards  that  have  to  be 
filled  up  at  the  most  inconvenient  time; 
don't " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  the  little  girl  was 
convulsed  with  laughter.  She  laughed  until 
the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks;  and  then 
she  dried  her  eyes  and  laughed  again. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  "I  can't  help  my- 
self; it's  so  funny." 

"It  may  be  funny  to  you,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing in  spite  of  himself;  "but  it  is  not  funny 
to  me." 


18  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"Of  course  it  isn't,"  she  replied,  making  a 
desperate  effort  to  be  serious.  "Well,  tell 
me  something  more  about  these  tuners." 

"Not  another  word,"  he  said  gallantly.  "I 
am  ashamed  of  myself  as  it  is.  Come  to  the 
end  of  the  garden,  and  let  me  show  you  the 
view  down  in,to  the  valley." 

She  had  conquered  her  fit  of  merriment, 
but  her  face  wore  a  settled  look  of  mischief, 
and  she  was  evidently  the  possessor  of  some 
secret  joke.  She  seemed  in  capital  health 
and  spirits,  and  had  so  much  to  say  that  was 
bright  and  interesting,  that  Oswald  Everard 
found  himself  becoming  reconciled  to  the 
whole  race  of  tuners.  He  was  amazed  to 
learn  that  she  had  walked  all  the  way  from 
Z.,  and  quite  alone  too. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  anything  of  that,"  she 
said;  "I  had  a  splendid  time,  and  I  caught 
four  rare  butterflies.  I  would  not  have  missed 
those  for  anything.  As  for  the  going  about 
by  myself,  that  is  a  second  nature.     Besides, 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  19 

I  do  not  belong  to  any  one.  That  has  its 
advantages,  and  I  suppose  its  disadvantages; 
but  at  present  I  have  only  discovered  the 
advantages.  The  disadvantages  will  dis- 
cover themselves!" 

"I  believe  you  are  what  the  novels  call  an 
advanced  young  woman,"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
you  give  lectures  on  Woman's  Suffrage  or 
something  of  that  sort." 

"I  have  very  often  mounted  the  platform," 
she  answered.  "In  fact,  I  am  never  so  happy 
as  when  addressing  an  immense  audience. 
A  most  unfeminine  thing  to  do,  isn't  it,?  What 
would  the  lady  yonder  in  the  horse-cloth 
dress  and  billy-cock  hat  say?  Don't  you 
think  you  ought  to  go  and  help  her  drive 
away  the  goat?  She  looks  so  frightened. 
She  interests  me  deeply.  I  wonder  whether 
she  has  written  an  essay  on  the  Feminine  in 
Woman.  I  should  like  to  read  it;  it  would 
do  me  so  much  good." 

"You  are  at  least  a  true  woman,"  he  said, 


20  A  BIRD  OF  P/ISSAGE 

laughing,  "for  I  see  you  can  be  spiteful  The 
tuning  has  not  driven  that  away." 

"Ah,  I  had  forgotten  about  the  tuning," 
she  answered  brightly;  "but  now  you  remind 
me,  I  have   been   seized    with  a  great   idea." 

"Won't  you  tell  it  to  me?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I  keep  my  great 
ideas  for  myself,  and  work  them  out  in  secret. 
And  this  one  is  particularly  amusing,  what 
fun  I  shall  have!" 

"But  why  keep  the  fun  to  yourself?"  he 
said.  "We  all  want  to  be  amused  here;  we 
all  want  to  be  stirred  up;  a  little  fun  would 
be  a  charity." 

"Very  well,  since  you  wish  it,  but  you  must 
give  me  time  to  work  out  my  great  idea.  I 
do  not  hurry  about  things,  not  even  about 
my  professional  duties.  For  I  have  a  strong 
feeling  that  it  is  vulgar  to  be  always  amassing 
riches!  As  I  have  neither  a  husband  nor  a 
brother  to  support,  I  have  chosen  less  wealth, 
and  more  leisure  to  enjoy  all  the  loveliness  of 


A  BIRD  OF  P/tSSAGE  21 

life!  So  you  see  I  take  my  time  about  every- 
thing. And  to-morrow  I  shall  catch  butter- 
flies at  my  leisure,  and  lie  among  the  dear 
old  pines,  and  work  at  my  great  idea." 

"I  shall  catch  butterflies,"  said  her  com- 
panion. "And  I  too  shall  lie  among  the  dear 
old  pines." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  she  said;  and  at  that 
moment  the  table  d'hote  bell  rang. 

The  little  girl  hastened  to  the  bureau  and 
spoke  rapidly  in  German  to  the  cashier. 

"Ach.  Fraulein!"he  said.  "You  are  not 
really  serious.?" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  she  said.  "I  don't  want  them 
to  know  my  name.  It  will  only  worry  me. 
Say  I  am    the    young    lady   who    tuned    the 

piano  " 

She  had  scarcely  given  these  directions 
and  mounted  to  her  room,  when  Oswald 
Everard,  who  was  much  interested  in  his 
mysterious  companion,  came  to  the  bureau 
and  asked  for  the  name  of  the  little  lady. 


22  A  BIRD  OF  PASS/iGE 

"Es  ist  das  Fraulein  welches  das  Piano 
gestimmt  hat,"  answered  the  man,  returning 
with  unusual  quickness    to  his  account-book. 

No  one  spoke  to  the  little  girl  at  table 
d'hote;  but  for  all  that  she  enjoyed  her  din- 
ner, and  gave  her  serious  attention  to  all  the 
courses.  Being  thus  solidly  occupied,  she 
had  not  much  leisure  to  bestow  on  the  con- 
versation of  the  other  guests.  Nor  was  it 
specially  original:  it  treated  of  the  short- 
comings of  the  chef,  the  tastelessness  of  the 
soup,  the  toughness  of  the  beef,  and  all  the 
many  failings  which  go  to  complete  a  moun- 
tain-hotel dinner.  But  suddenly,  so  it  seemed 
to  the  little  girl,  this  time-honored  talk  passed 
into  another  phase;  she  heard  the  word 
music  mentioned,  and  she  became  at  once 
interested  to  learn  what  these  people  had  to 
say  on  a  subject  which  was  dearer  to  her 
than   any  other. 

"For    my  own   part,"  said  a  stern-looking 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  23 

old  man,  "I  have  no  words  to  describe  what 
a  gracious  comfort  music  has  been  to  me  all 
my  life.  It  is  the  noblest  language  which 
man  may  understand  and  speak.  And  I 
sometimes  think  that  those  who  know  it,  or 
know  something  of  it,  are  able  at  rare  mo- 
ments to  find  an  answer  to  life's  perplexing 
problems." 

The  little  girl  looked  up  from  her  plate. 
Robert  Browning's  words  rose  to  her  lips, 
but  she  did  not  give  them  utterance: 

"God  has  a  few  of  us  whom  he  whispers  in  the  ear; 
The  rest  may  reason, and  welcome;  tis  we  musicians  know  " 

"I  have  hved  through  a  long  life,"  said  an- 
other elderly  man,  "and  have  therefore  had 
my  share  of  tirouble,  but  the  grief  of  being 
obliged  to  give  up  music  was  the  grief  which 
held  me  longest,  or  which  perhaps  has  never 
left  me.  1  still  crave  for  the  gracious  pleas- 
ure of  touching  once  more  the  strings  of  a 
violoncello,  and  hearing  the  dear  tender  voice 
singing  and  throbbing  and  answering  even  to 


24  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

such  poor  skill  as  mine.  I  still  yearn  to  take 
my  part  in  concerted  music,  and  be  one  of 
those  privileged  to  play  Beethoven's  string 
quartettes.  But  that  will  have  to  be  in  an- 
other incarnation,  I  think." 

He  glanced  at  his  shrunken  arm,  and  then, 
as  though  ashamed  of  this  allusion  to  his  own 
personal  infirmity,  he  added  hastily: 

"But  when  the  first  pang  of  such  a  pain  is 
over,  there  remains  the  comfort  of  being  a 
listener.  At  first  one  does  not  think  it  a 
comfort;  but  as  time  goes  on,  there  is  no  re- 
sisting its  magic  influence.  And  Lowell  said 
rightly  that  'one  of  God's  great  charities  is 
music.  '" 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  musical,  Mr. 
Keith,"  said  an  English  lady.  "You  have 
never  before  spoken  of  music." 

"Perhaps  not,  madam,"  he  answered. 
"One  does  not  often  speak  of  what  one  cares 
for  most  of  all.  But  when  I  am  in  London 
I  rarely  miss  hearing  our  best  players." 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  25 

At  this  point  others  joined  m,  and  the 
various  merits  of  eminent  pianists  were 
warmly  discussed. 

"What  a  wonderful  name  that  little  English 
lady  has  made  for  herself!"  said  the  Major, 
who  was  considered  an  authority  on  all  sub- 
jects. "I  would  go  anywhere  to  hear  Miss 
Thyra  Flowerdew.  We  all  ought  j:o  be  very 
proud  of  her.  She  has  taken  even  the  Ger- 
man musical  world  by  storm,  and  they  say 
her  recitals  at  Paris  have  been  brilliantly  suc- 
cessful. I  myself  have  heard  her  at  New 
York,  Leipsic,  London,  Berlin,,  and  even 
Chicago." 

The  little  girl  stirred  uneasily  in  her  chair. 

"I  don't  think  Miss  Flowerdew  has  ever 
been  to  Chicago,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  The  admirer  of 
Miss  Thyra  Flowerdew  looked  much  annoyed, 
and  twiddled  his  watch  chain.  He  had  meant 
to  say  Philadelphia,  but  he  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  own  to  his  mistake. 


26  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"What  impertinence  !"said  one  of  the  ladies 
to  Miss  Blake.  "What  can  she  know  about 
it?  Is  she  not  the  young  person  who  tuned 
the  piano?" 

"Perhaps  she  tunes  Miss  Thyra  Flower- 
dew's  piano!"  suggested  Miss  Blake  in  a  loud 
whisper. 

"You  are  right,  madam,"  said  the  little  girl 
quietly.  "I  have  often  tuned  Miss  Flower- 
dew's  piano." 

There  was  another  embarrassing  silence, 
and  then  a  lovely  old  lady,  whom  every  one 
reverenced,  came  to  the  rescue. 

"I  think  her  playing  is  simply  superb,"  she 
said.  "Nothing  that  I  ever  hear  satisfies  me 
so  entirely.  She  has  all  the  tenderness  of 
an  angel's  touch." 

"Listening  to  her,"  said  the  Major,  who 
had  now  recovered  from  his  annoyance  at 
being  interrupted,  "one  becomes  unconscious 
of  her  presence,  for  she  is  the  music  itself. 
And  that  is  rare.     It  is  but  seldom  nowadays 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  27 

that  we  are  allowed  to  forget  the  personality 
of  the  player.  And  yet  her  personality  is  an 
unusual  one;  having  once  seen  her,  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  forget  her.  I  should  recog- 
nize her  anywhere." 

As  he  spoke  he  glanced  at  the  little  tuner, 
and  could  not  help  admiring  her  dignified 
composure  under  circumstances  which  might 
have  been  distressing  to  any  one;  and  when 
she  rose  with  the  others,  he  followed  her, 
and  said  stiffly: 

"I  regret  that  I  was  the  indirect  cause  of 
putting  you  in  an  awkward  position." 

"It  is  really  of  no  consequence,"  she  said 
brightly.  "If  you  think  I  was  impertinent,  I 
ask  your  forgiveness.  1  did  not  mean  to  be 
officious.  The  words  were  spoken  before  I 
was  aware  of  them." 

She  passed  into  the  salon,  where  she  found  a 
quiet  corner  for  herself,  and  read  some  of  the 
newspapers.  No  one  took  the  slightest  notice 
ot  her;  not  a  word  was  spoken  to    her;     but 


"8  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

when  she  relieved  the   company    of  her  pres- 
ence her  impertinence  was  commented  on. 

"I  am  sorry  that  she  heard  what  I  said,' 
remari<ed  Miss  Blaice.  "But  she  did  not  stem 
to  mind.  These  young  women  who  go  out 
into  the  world  lose  the  edge  of  their  sensitive- 
ness and  femininity.  I  have  always  observed 
that." 

"How  much  they  are  spared  then!"  an- 
swered some  one. 

Meanwhile  the  little  girl  slept  soundly. 
She  had  merry  dreams,  and  finally  woke  up 
laughing.  She  hurried  over  her  breakfast, 
and  then  stood  ready  to  go  for  a  butterfly 
hunt.  She  looked  thoroughly  happy,  and 
evidently  had  found,  and  was  holding  tightly 
the  key  to  life's  enjoyment. 

Oswald  Everard  was  waiting  on  the  bal- 
cony, and  he  reminded  her  that  he  intended 
to  go  with  her. 

"Come  along,  then,"  she  answered;  "we 
must  not  lose  a  moment." 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  29 

They  caught  butterflies,  they  picked  flow- 
ers, they  ran;  they  lingered  by  the  wayside, 
they  sang;  they  climbed,  and  he  marveled  at 
her  easy  speed.  Nothing  seemed  to  tire  her, 
and  everything  seemed  to  delight  her:  the 
flowers,  the  birds,  the  clouds,  the  grasses, 
and  the  fragrance  of  the  pine-woods. 

"Is  it  not  good  to  live?"  she  cried.  "Is  it 
not  splendid  to  take  in  the  scented  air.? 
Draw  in  as  many  long  breaths  as  you  can. 
Isn't  it  good?  Don't  you  feel  now  as  though 
you  were  ready  to  move  mountains?  I  do. 
What  a  dear  old  nurse  Nature  is!  How  she 
pets  us,  and  gives  us  the  best  of  her  treas- 
ures !" 

Her  happiness  invaded  Oswald  Everard's 
soul,  and  he  felt  Hke  a  schoolboy  once  more, 
rejoicing  in  a  fine  day  and  his  liberty;  with 
nothing  to  spoil  the  freshness  of  the  air,  and 
nothing  to  threaten  the  freedom  of  the  mo- 
ment. 

"Is  it  not  good  to  live?"  he  cried.  "Yes, 
indeed  it  is,  if  we  know  how  to  enjoy." 


30  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

They  had  come  upon  some  haymakers,  and 
the  little  girl  hastened  up  to  help  them. 
There  she  was  in  the  midst  of  them,  laughing 
and  talking  to  the  women,  and  helping  them 
to  pile  up  the  hay  on  the  shoulders  ol  a  broad- 
backed  man,  who  then  conveyed  his  burden 
to  a  pear-shaped  stack.  Oswald  Everard 
watched  his  companion  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  quite  forgetting  his  dignity  as  an  ama- 
teur tenor  singer,  he  too,  lent  his  aid,  and 
did  not  leave  off  until  his  companion  sank 
exhausted  on  the  ground- 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "what  delightful  work 
for  a  very  short  time!  Come  along;  let  us 
go  into  that  brown  chalet  yonder  and  ask  for 
some  milk.  I  am  simply  parched  with  thirst. 
Thank  you,  but  I  prefer  to  carry  my  own 
flowers." 

"What  an  independent  little  lady  you  are!" 

he  said. 

"It  is  quite  necessary  in  our  profession,  I 
can  assure  you,"  she  said,  with  a  tone  ol  mis- 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  31 

chief  in  her  voice.  "That  reminds  me  that 
my  profession  is  evidently  not  looked  upon 
with  any  favor  by  the  visitors  at  the  hotel. 
I  am  heartbroken  to  think  that  I  have  not 
won  the  esteem  of  that  lady  in  the  billy-cock 
hat.  What  will  she  say  to  you  for  coming 
with  me?  And  what  will  she  say  of  me  for 
allowing  you  to  come?  I  wonder  whether 
she  will  say,  'How  unfeminine!'  I  wish  I 
could  hear  her!" 

"I  don't  suppose  you  care,"  he  said.  "You 
seem  to  be  a  wild  little  bird." 

"I  don't  care  what  a  person  of  that  descrip- 
tion says,"  replied  his  companion. 

"What  on  earth  made  you  contradict  the 
Major  at  dinner  last  night?"  he  asked.  "I  was 
not  at  the  table,  but  some  one  told  me  of  the 
incident;  and  I  felt  very  sorry  about  it. 
What  could  you  know  of  Miss  Thyra  Flower- 
dew?" 

"Well,  considering  that  she  is  in  my  pro- 
fession, of  course  I  know  something  about 
her,"  said  the  little  girl. 


32  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"Confound  it  all!"  he  said,  rather  rudely. 
"Surely  there  is  some  difference  between  the 
bellows-blower  and  the  organist." 

"Absolutely  none,"  she  answered — "merely 
a  variation  of  the  original  theme!" 

As  she  spoke  she  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  chalet,  and  asked  the  old  dame  to  give 
them  some  milk.  They  sat  in  the  Stube, 
and  the  little  girl  looked  about,  and  admired 
the  spinning-wheel,  and  the  quaint  chairs, 
and  the  queer  old  jugs,  and  the  pictures  on 
the  walls. 

"Ah,  but  you  shall  see  the  other  room," 
the  old  peasant  woman  said,  and  she  led  them 
into  a  small  apartment,  which  was  evidently 
intended  for  a  study.  It  bore  evidences  of 
unusual  taste  and  care,  and  one  could  see 
that  some  loving  hand  had  been  trying  to 
make  it  a  real  sanctum  of  refinement.  There 
was  even  a  small  piano.  A  carved  book-rack 
was  fastened  to  the  wall. 

The  old  dame  did  not  speak    at  first;   she 


/t  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  33 

gave  her  guests  time  to  recover  from  the 
astonishment  which  she  felt  they  must  be  ex- 
periencing; then  she  pointed  proudly  to  the 
piano. 

"I.  bought  that  for  my  daughters,"  she 
said,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  sadness  and 
triumph.  "I  wanted  to  keep  them  at  home 
with  me,  and  I  saved  and  saved  and  got 
enough  money  to  buy  the  piano.  They  had 
always  wanted  to  have  one,  and  I  thought 
they  would  then  stay  with  me.  They  liked 
music  and  books,  and  I  knew  they  would  be 
glad  to  have  a  room  of  their  own  where  they 
might  read  and  play  and  study;  and  so  I  gave 
them  this  corner." 

"Well,  mother,"  asked  the  little  girl,  "and 
where  are  they  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Ah!"  she  answered  sadly,  "they  did  not 
care  to  stay.  But  it  was  natural  enough; 
and  I  was  foolish  to  grieve.  Besides,  they 
come  to  see  me." 

"And  then  they  play  to  you?"  asked  the 
little  girl  gently. 


34  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"They  say  the  piano  is  out  of  tune,"  the 
old  dame  said.  "I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
you  can  tell." 

The  little  girl  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and 
struck  a  few  chords. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "It  is  badly  out  of  tune. 
Give  me  the  tuning-hammer.  I  am  sorry," 
she  added,  smiling  at  Oswald  Everard,  "but 
I  cannot  neglect  my  duty.  Don't  wait  for  me." 

•«I  will  wait  for  you,  "  he  said  sullenly;  and 
he  went  into  the  balcony  and  smoked  his 
pipe,  and  tried  to  possess  his  soul  in  patience. 

When  she  had  faithfully  done  her  work, 
she  played  a  few  simple  melodies,  such  as 
she  knew  the  old  woman  would  love  and  un- 
derstand; and  she  turned  away  when  she 
saw  that  the  listener's  eyes  were  moist. 

"Play  once  again,"  the  old  woman  whis- 
pered.     "I  am  dreaming  of  beautiful  thmgs." 

So  the  little  tuner  touched  the  keys  again 
with  all  the  tenderness  of  an    angel. 

"Tell   your   daughters,"  she    said,    as  she 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  85 

rose  to  say  good-bye,  "that  the  piano  is  now 
in  good  tune.  Then  they  will  play  to  you  the 
next  time  they  come." 

"I  shall  always  remember  you,  mademoi- 
selle," the  old  woman  said;  and,  almost  un- 
consciously, she  too  took  the  childish  face 
and  kissed  it. 

Oswald  Everard  was  waiting  in  the  hay- 
field  for  his  companion;  and  when  she  apolo- 
gized to  him  for  this  little  professional  in- 
termezzo, as  she  called  it,  he  recovered  from 
his  sulkiness  and  readjusted  his  nerves,  which 
the  noise  of  the  tuning  had  somewhat  dis- 
turbed. 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  tune  the  old 
dame's  piano,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with 
renewed  interest. 

"Some  one  had  to  do  it,  of  course,"  she 
answered  brightly,  "and  I  am  glad  the  chance 
fell  to  me.  What  a  comfort  it  is  to  think 
that  the  next  time  those  daughters  come  to 
see  her,  they  will  play  to  her,  and  make  her 
very  happy!   Poor  old  dear!" 


9(5  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

"You  puzzle  me  greatly,"  he  said.  "I  can- 
not for  the  life  of  me  think  what  made  you 
choose  your  calling.  You  must  have  many 
gifts;  any  one  who  talks  with  you  must  see 
that  at  once.  And  you  play  quite  nicely  too." 
"I  am  sorry  that  my  profession  sticks  in  your 
throat,"  she  answered.  "Do  be  thankful  that  I 
am  nothing  worse  than  a  tuner.  For  I  might 
be    something  worse — a  snob,  for  instance." 

And  so  speaking,  she  dashed  after  a  butter- 
fly, and  left  him  to  recover  from  her  words. 
He  was  conscious  of  having  deserved  a  re- 
proof; and  when  at  last  he  overtook  her,  he 
said  as  much,  and  asked  for  her  kind  indul- 
gence. 

"I  forgive  you,"  she  said,  laughing.  "You 
and  I  are  not  looking  at  things  from  the 
same  point  of  view;  but  we  have  had  a  splen- 
did morning  together,  and  I  have  enjoyed 
every  minute  of  it.  And  to-morrow  I  go  on 
my  way." 

"And  to-morrow  you  go !"  he  repeated.  "Can 
it  not  be  the  day  after  to-morrow.?" 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  37 

"I  am  a  bird  of  passage,"  she  said, shaking 
her  head.  "You  must  not  seek  to  detain  me. 
I  have  taken  my  rest,  and  off  I  go  to  other 
climes." 

They  had  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  Oswald 
Everard  saw  no  more  of  his  companion  until 
the  evening,  when  she  came  down  rather  late 
for  table  d'hote.  She  hurried  over  her  dinner 
and  went  into  the  salon.  She  closed  the 
door  and  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  lingered 
there  without  touching  the  keys;  once  or 
twice  she  raised  her  hands,  and  then  she  let 
them  rest  on  the  notes,  and  half-unconsciously 
they  began  to  move  and  make  sweet  music, 
and  then  they  drifted  into  Schumann's 
Abendlied,  and  then  the  little  girl  played 
some  of  his  Kinderscenen,  and  some  of  his 
Fantasie  Stucke,  and  some  of  his  songs. 

Her  touch  and  feeling  were  exquisite;  and 
her  phrasing  betrayed  the  true  musician.  The 
strains  of  music  reached  the  dining-room,  and 


427883 


38  yt  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

one  by  one  the  guests  came  creeping  in, 
moved  by  the  music,  and  anxious  to  see  the 
musician. 

The  little  girl  did  not  look  up;  she  was  in 
a  Schumann  mood  that  evening,  and  only  the 
players  of  Schumann  know  what  enthralling 
possession  he  takes  of  their  very  spirit.  All 
the  passion  and  pathos  and  wildness  and 
longing  had  found  an  inspired  interpreter; 
and  those  who  listened  to  her  were  held  by 
the  magic  which  was  her  own  secret,  and 
which  had  won  for  her  such  honor  as  comes 
only  to  the  few.  She  understood  Schumann's 
music,  and  was  at  her  best  with  him. 

Had  she,  perhaps,  chosen  to  play  his  music 
this  evening  because  she  wished  to  be  at  her 
best.!*     Or  was  she  merely  being  impelled  by 
an  overwhelming  force  within  her?     Perhaps 
it  was  something  of  both. 

Was  she  wishing  to  humiliate  these  people 
who  had  received  her  so  coldly?  This  little 
girl    was   only    human:     perhaps   there  was 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  39 

something  of  that  feeling  too.  Who  can  tell? 
But  she  played  as  she  had  never  played  in 
London,  or  Paris,  or  BerHn,  or  New  York, 
or  Philadelphia. 

At  last  she  arrived  at  the  Carneval,  and 
those  who  heard  her  declared  afterward  that 
they  had  never  listened  to  a  more  magnifi- 
cent rendering;  the  tenderness  was  so  re- 
strained, the  vigor  was  so  refined.  When 
the  last  notes  of  that  spirited  Marche  des 
Davidsbundler  contre  les  Philistins  had  died 
away,  she  glanced  at  Oswald  Everard,  who 
was  standing  near  her,  almost  dazed. 

"And  now  my  favorite  piece  of  all,"  she 
said;  and  she  at  once  began  the  Second 
Novellette,  the  finest  of  the  eight,  but  sel- 
dom played  in  public. 

What  can  one  say  of  the  wild  rush  of  the 
leading  theme,  and  the  pathetic  longing  of 
the  Intermezzo? 

".     .     .     The  murmuring  dying  notes, 
That  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea;" 

and 


4^  A  BIRD  OF  P/tSS/tCE 

"The  passionate  strain  that  deeply  going, 
Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through." 

What  can  one  say  of  those  vague  aspira- 
tions and  finest  thoughts  which  possess  the 
very  dullest  among  us  when  such  music  as 
that  which  the  little  girl  had  chosen  catches 
us  and  keeps  us,  if  only  for  a  passing  mo- 
ment, but  that  moment  of  the  rarest  worth 
and  loveliness  in  our  unlovely  lives? 

What  can  one  say  of  the  highest  music, 
except  that,  like  death,  it  is  the  great  lev- 
eler:  it  gathers  us  all  to  its  tender  keeping  — 
and  we  rest. 

The  little  girl  ceased  playing.  There  was 
not  a  sound  to  be  heard;  the  magic  was  still 
holding  her  listeners.  When  at  last  they  had 
freed  themselves  with  a  sigh,  they  pressed 
forward  to  greet  her. 

"There  is  only  one  person  who  can  play 
like  that,"  cried  the  Major,  with  sudden  in- 
spiration;   "she  is   Miss  Thyra   Flowerdew." 

The  little  girl  smiled. 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE  41 

"That  is  my  name,"  she  said  simply;  and 
she  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

The  next  morning,  at  an  early  hour,  the 
Bird  of  Passage  took  her  flight  onward,  but 
she  was  not  destined  to  go  off  unobserved. 
Oswald  Everard  saw  the  little  figure  swing- 
ing along  the  road,  and  he  overtook  her. 

"You  little  wild  bird!"  he  said.  "And  so 
this  was  your  great  idea:  to  have  your  fun 
out  of  us  all,  and  then  play  to  us  and  make 
us  feel,  I  don't  know  how — and  then  to  go." 

"You  said  the  company  wanted  stirring 
up,"  she  answered;  "and  I  rather  fancy  I 
have  stirred  them  up." 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  you  have  done 
for  me?"  he  asked. 

"I  hope  I  have  proved  to  you  that  the  bel- 
lows-blower and  the  organist  are  sometimes 
identical,"  she  answered. 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"Little  wild  bird,"  he  said,  "you  have  given 


42  A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

me  a  great  idea,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  it 
is:  to  tavie you.  So  good-bye  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "But  wild  birds  are 
not  so  easily  tamed." 

Then  she  waved  her  hand  over  her  head, 
and  went  on  her  way  singing. 


THE  END. 


AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 


AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON. 

BY   BEATRICE   HARRADEN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

HIERONYMUS    COMES. 

It  was  a  pouring  September  evening  when 
a  stranger  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  Crown 
Inn.  Old  Mrs.  Howells  saw  that  he  carried 
a  portmanteau  in  his  hand. 

"If  it's  a  bedroom  you  want,"  she  said,  "I 
can't  be  bothered  with  you.  What  with 
brewing  the  beer  and  cleaning  the  brass,  I've 
more    than  I    can    manage.     I'm  that  tired!" 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  the  stranger  pathet- 
ically. 

"Go  over  the  way  to  the    Green    Dragon," 

45 


46  /f7  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

suggested  Mrs.  Howells.  "Mrs.  Benbow  may 
be  able  to  put  you  up.  But  what  with  the 
brewing  and  the  cleaning,  I  can't  do  with 
you." 

The  stranger  stepped  across  the  road  to 
the  Green  Dragon.  He  tapped  at  the  door, 
and  a  cheery  little  woman  made  her  appear- 
ance. She  was  carr}  ing  what  they  call  in 
Shropshire  a  devil  of  hot  beer.    It  smelt  good. 

"Good-evening,  ma'am,"  said  the  stranger. 
"Can    you    house    me   for    the  night  .^     The 
hostess  of  the    Crown    Inn    has    turned  me 
away.      But  you  surely  will  not  do  the  same.? 
You  observe  what  a  bad  cold  I  have." 

Mrs.  Benbow  glanced  sharply  at  the 
stranger.  She  had  not  kept  the  Green 
Dragon  for  ten  years  without  learning  to 
judge  somewhat  of  character;  and  to-night 
she  was  particularly  on  her  guard,  for  her 
husband  had  gone  to  stay  for  two  days  with 
some  relatives  in  Shrewsbury,  so  that  Mrs. 
Benbow   and    old    John   of   the  wooden  leg, 


HIERONYMUS  COMES  47 

called  Dot  and   carry  one,  were    left   as   sole 
guardians  of  the  little  wayside  public  house. 

"It  is  not  very  convenient  for  me  to  take 
you  in,"  she  said. 

"And  it  would  not  be  very  convenient  for 
me  to  be  shut  out,"  he  replied.  "Besides 
which,  I  have  had  a  whiff  of  that  hot   beer." 

At  that  moment  a  voice  from  the  kitchen 
cried  impatiently.  "Here,  missus!  where  be 
that  beer  of  your'n.  I  be  feeling  quite  faint- 
like!" 

"As  though  he  could  call  out  like  that  if 
he  was  faint  I  "laughed  Mrs.  Benbow,  running 
off  into  the  kitchen. 

When  she  returned  she  found  the  stranger 
seated  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

"And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  for  me?" 
he  asked  patiently. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genial  manner. 
Mrs.  Benbow  was  conquered. 

"I  propose  to  fry  some  eggs  and  bacon  for 
your  supper,"  she  said  cheerily.     "And  then 


48  j4T  the  green  DR/IGON 

I  propose  to  make  your  bedroom  ready." 
"Sensible  woman!"  he  said,  as  he  followed 
her  into  the  parlor,  where  a  fire  was  burning 
brightly.  He  threw  himself  into  the  easy- 
chair,  and  immediately  experienced  that 
sensation  of  repose  and  thankfulness  which 
comes  over  us  when  we  have  found  a  haven. 
There  he  rested,  content  with  himself  and  his 
surroundings.  The  fire  lit  up  his  face,  and 
showed  him  to  be  a  man  of  about  forty  years. 
There  was  nothing  especially  remarkable 
about  him.  The  face  in  repose  was  sad  and 
thoughtful;  and  yet  when  he  discovered  a 
yellow  cat  sleeping  under  the  table,  he  smiled 
as  though  some  great  pleasure  had  come  into 
his  life. 

"Come  along,  little  comrade!"  he  said,  as 
he  captured  her.  She  looked  up  into  his 
face  so  frankly  that  the  stranger  was  much 
impressed.  "Why,  I  do  believe  you  are  a 
dog  undergoing  a  cat  incarnation,"  he  con- 
tinued.    "What  qualities    did  you  lack  when 


HIERONYMUS  COMES  49 

you  were  a  dog,  I  wonder?  Perhaps  you  did 
not  steal  sufficiently  well;  perhaps  you  had 
net  cultivated  restfulness.  And  your  name  ? 
Year  name  shall  be  Gamboge.  I  think  that 
is  a  suitable  appellation  for  you— certainly 
more  suitable  than  most  of  the  names 
thrust  upon  unoffending  humanity.  My  own 
name,  for  instance,  Hieronymus!  Ah,  you 
may  well  mew !  You  are  a  thoroughly  sensi- 
ble creature." 

So  he  amused  himself  until  Mrs.  Benbow 
came  with  his  supper.  Then  he  pointed  to 
the  cat  and  said  quietly: 

"That  is  a  very  companionable  dog  of 
yours." 

Mrs.  Benbow  darted  a  look  of  suspicion  at 
the  stranger. 

"We  call  that  a  cat  in  Shropshire,"  she  said, 
beginning  to  regret  that  she  had  agreed  to 
house  the  stranger. 

"Well,  no  doubt  you  are  partially  right," 
said   the   stranger    solemnly;  "but,     at   the 


50  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

same  time,  you  are  partially  wrong.      To  use 
the    language  of  the  theosophists " 

Mrs.  Benbow  interrupted  him. 

"Eat  your  supper  while  it  is  hot,"  she 
said,  "then  perhaps  you'll  feel  better.  Your 
cold  is  rather    heavy  in    your  head,  isn't  it?" 

He  laughed  good-temperedly,  and  smiled 
at  her  as  though  to  reassure  her  that  he  was 
quite  in  his  right  senses;  and  then,  without 
further  discussion,  he  began  to  make  short 
work  of  the  fried  eggs  and  bacon.  Gam- 
boge, sitting  quietly  by  the  fireside,  scorned 
to  beg;  she  preferred  to  steal.  That  is  a 
way  some  people  have. 

The  stranger  finished  his  supper,  and  lit  his 
pipe.  Once  or  twice  he  began  to  doze.  The 
first  time  he  was  aroused  by  Gamboge,  who 
had  jumped  on  the  table,  and  was  seeking 
what  she  might  devour. 

"Ah,  Gamboge,"  he  said  sleepily,  "I  am 
sorry  I  have  not  left  anything  appetizing  for 
you.     I  was  so  hungry.     Pray  excuse." 


HIERONYMUS  COMES  51 

Then  he  dozed  off  again.  The  second 
time  he  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  singing. 
He  caught  the  words  of  the  chorus: 

"I'll  gayly  sing  from  day  to  day, 
And  do  the  best  I  can; 
If  sorrows  meet  me  on  the  way, 
I'll  bear  them  like  a  man." 

"An  excellent  resolution,"  murmured  the 
stranger,  becoming  drowsy  once  more.  "Only 
I  wish  they'd  kept  their  determinations  to 
themselves," 

The  third  time  he  was  disturbed  by  the 
sound  of  angry  voices.  There  was  some 
quarreling  going  on  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
Green  Dragon.  The  voices  became  louder. 
There  was  a  clatter  of  stools  and  a  crash  of 
glasses. 

"You  are  a  pack  of  lying  gypsies!"  sang 
out  some  one.  *-You  know  well  you  didn't 
pay  the  missus!" 

"Go  for  him!  go  for  him!"  was  the  cry. 

Then  the  parlor  door  was  flung  open  and 
Mrs     Benbw  rushed    in.     "Oh!"    she    cried, 


52  yIT    THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"those  gypsy  men  are  killing  the    carpenter!" 
Hieronymus     Howard      rushed     into     the 
kitchen,  and    threw  himself  into  the  midst  of 
the    contest.      Three    powerful    tramps  were 
kicking    a  figure    prostrate    on    the    ground. 
One  other  man,  Mr.  Greaves,  the  blacksmith, 
was    trying    in  vain  to    defend  his  comrade. 
He  had  no  chance    against    these    gypsy  fel- 
lows, and    though    he  fought    like  a  lion,  his 
strength     was,    of     course,     nothing     againsi 
theirs.      Old  John  of  the    one  leg    had    been 
knocked    over,  and   was    picking   himself   up 
with  difficulty.      Everything  depended  on  the 
promptness  of  the  stranger.     He  was  nothing^ 
of  a  warrior,  this    Hieronymus    Howard;    he 
was   just  a  quiet    student,  who  knew  how  to 
tussle  with  Greek  roots  rather  than  with  Eng- 
lish tramps.      But  be  threw  himself  upon  the 
gypsies,  fought  hand  to  hand  with  them,  was 
blinded  with  blows,  nearly  trampled   beneath 
their  feet,  all  but    crushed    against  the  wall. 
Now  he  thrust  them  back.    Now  they  pressed 


HIERONYMUS  COMES  o3 

on  him  afresh.  Now  the  blacksmith,  with 
desperate  effort,  attacked  them  again.  Now 
the  carpenter,  bruised  and  battered,  but  wild 
for  revenge,  dragged  himself  from  the  floor, 
and  aimed  a  blow  at  the  third  gypsy's  head. 
He  fell.  Then  after  a  short,  sharp  contest, 
the  other  two  gypsies  were  driven  to  the 
door,  which  Mrs.  Benbow  had  opened  wide, 
and  were  thrust  out.     The   door  was  bolted 

safely. 

But  they  had  bolted  one  gypsy  in  with 
them.  When  they  returned  to  the  kitchen 
they  found  him  waiting  for  them.  He  had 
recovered  himself. 

Mrs.  Benbow  raised  a  cry  of  terror.  She 
had  thought  herself  safe  in  her  castle.  The 
carpenter  and  the  blacksmith  were  past  fight- 
ing. Hieronymus  Howard  gazed  placidly  at 
the  great  tramp, 

"I  am  sorry  we  had  forgotten  you,"  he  said 
courteously.  "Perhaps  you  will  oblige  us 
by  following  your  comrades.     I  will  open  the 


54  /tT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

door  for  you.      I  think  we  are  all  rather  tired 
— aren't  we?   So  perhaps  you  will  go  at  once." 

The  man  gazed  sheepishly  at  him,  and 
then  followed  him.  Hieronymus  Howard 
opened  the  door. 

"Good-evening  to  you,"  he  said. 

And  the  gypsy  passed  out  without  a  word. 

"Well  now,  "  said  Hieronymus,  as  he  drew 
the  bolt,  "that  is  the  end  of  that." 

Then  he  hastened  into    the    parlor.      Mrs.* 
Benbow  hurried    after    him,  and  was    just  in 
time  to    break    his    fall.      He    had    swooned 
away. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HIERONYMUS  STAYS. 


Hieronymus  Howard  had  only  intended  to 
pass   one  night  at  the    Green    Dragon.     But 
his  sharp  encounter  with  the  gypsies    altered 
his  plans.     He  was  battered  and  bruised  and 
thoroughly  shaken,  and    quite    unable  to  do 
anything  else  except  rest  in  the  arm-chair  and 
converse  with  Gamboge,  who    had    attached 
herself  to  him,  and  evidently  appreciated  his 
companionship.     His    right    hand  was  badly 
sprained.      Mrs.    Benbow    looked    after    him 
most  tenderly,  bemoaning  all  the    time    that 
he  should  be  in  such  a  plight  because  of  her. 
There  was  nothing  that   she  was  not  willing 
to  do  for  him;  it  was  a  long  time  since    Hi- 
eronymus Howard   had  been  so   petted   and 


56  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

spoiled.  Mrs.  Benbow  treated  every  one 
like  a  young  child  that  needed  to  be  taken 
care  of.  The  very  men  who  came  to  drink 
her  famous  ale  were  under  her  strict  motherly 
authority.  "There  now,  Mr.  Andrew,  that's 
enough  for  ye,"  she  would  say;  "not  another 
glass  to-night.  No,  no,  John  Curtis;  get 
you  gone  home.  You'll  not  coax  another 
half-pint  out  of  me." 

She  was  generally  obeyed;  even  Hieronymus 
Howard,  who  refused  rather  peevishly  to  take 
a  third  cup  of  beef-tea,  found  himself  obliged 
to  comply.  When  she  told  him  to  lie  on  the 
sofa,  he  did  so  without  a  murmur.  When 
she  told  him  to  get  up  and  take  his  dinner 
while  it  was  still  hot,  he  obeyed  like  a  well- 
trained  child.  She  cut  his  food,  and  then 
took  the  knife  away. 

"You  mustn't  try  to  use  your  right  hand," 
she  said  sternly.  "Put  it  back  in  the  sling 
at  once." 

Hieronymus   obeyed.     Her    kind  tyranny 


HIERONYMUS  STAYS  57 

pleased  and  amused  him,  and  he  was  not  at 
all  sorry  to  go  on  staying  at  the  Green  Drag- 
on. He  was  really  on  his  way  to  visit  some 
friends  just  on  the  border  between  Shropshire 
and  Wales,  to  form  one  of  a  large  house- 
party,  consisting  of  people  both  interesting 
and  intellectual:  qualities,  by  the  way,  not 
necessarily  inseparable.  But  he  was  just  at 
the  time  needing  quiet  of  mind,  and  he  prom- 
ised himself  some  really  peaceful  hours  in  this 
little  Shropshire  village,  with  its  hills,  some 
of  them  bare,  and  others  girt  with  a  belt  of 
trees,  and  the  brook  gurgling  past  the  way- 
side inn.  He  was  tired,  and  here  he  would 
find  rest.  The  only  vexatious  part  was  that 
he  had  hurt  his  hand.  But  for  this  mishap 
he  would  have  been  quite  content. 

He  told  this  to  Mr.  Benbow,  who  returned 
that  afternoon,  and  who  expressed  his  regret 
at  the  whole  occurrence. 

"Oh,  I  am  well  satisfied  here,"  said  Hi- 
eronymus  cheerily.      "Your   little   wife  is    a 


58  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

capital  hostess:  somewhat  of  the  tyrant,  y,  a 
know.  Still,  one  likes  that;  until  one  gets 
to  the  fourth  cup  of  beef-tea!  And  she  is 
an  excellent  cook,  and  the  Green  Dragon  is 
most  comfortable.  I've  nothing  to  complain 
of  except  my  hand.  That  is  a  nuisance,  for 
I  wanted  to  do  some  writing.  I  suppose 
there  is  no  one  here  who  could  write  for  me." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Benbow,  "perhaps  the 
missus  can.  She  can  do  most  things.  She's 
real  clever." 

Mrs.  Benbow,  being  consulted  on  this  mat- 
ter, confessed  that  she  could  not  do  much  in 
that  line. 

"I  used  to  spell  pretty  well  once,"  she  said 
brightly;  "but  the  brewing  and  the  scouring 
and  the  looking  after  other  things  have 
knocked  all  that  out  of   me." 

"You  wrote  to  me  finely  when  I  was  away," 
her  husband  said.  He  was  a  quiet  fellow, 
and  proud  of  his  little  wife,  and  liked  people 
to  know  how  capable  she  was. 


HIERONYMUS  stays  59 

"Ah,  but  you  aren't  over-particular,  Ben, 
bless  you,"  she  answered,  laughing,  and  run- 
ning away  to  her  many  duties.  Then  she 
returned  to  tell  Hieronymus  that  there  was  a 
splendid  fire  in  the  kitchen,  and  that  he  was 
to  go  and  sit  there. 

"I'm  busy  doing  the  washing  in  the  back- 
yard," she  said.    "Ben  has  gone  to  look  after 
the  sheep.      Perhaps    you'll   give   an   eye  to 
the  door,  and    serve    out    the  ale.      It  would 
help  me  mighty.    I'm  rather  pressed  for  time 
to-day.      We    shall   brew   to-morrow,  and  I 
must  get  the    washing  done  this   afternoon." 
She  took  it  for  granted  that  he  would  obey, 
and  of  course  he  did.    He  transferred  himself, 
his  pipe,  and  his  book  to    the  front  kitchen, 
and    prepared    for   customers.      Hieronymus 
Howard   had   once    been    an  ambitious  man, 
but  never  before  had  he  been  seized  by  such 
an  overwhelming  aspiration  as  now  possessed 
him— to  serve  out  the  Green  Dragon  ale! 

"If  only  some  one  would  come!"  he   said 
to  himself  scores  of  times. 


60  ^T  THE  GREEN  DRy4G0N 

No  one  came.  Hieronymus,  becoming 
impatient,  sprang  up  from  his  chair  and 
gazed  anxiously  out  of  the  widow,  just  in 
time  to  see  three  men  stroll  into  the  oppo- 
site inn. 

"Confound  them!"  he  cried;  "why  don't 
they  come  here.-"' 

The  next  moment  four  riders  stopped  at 
the  rival  public-house,  and  old  Mrs.  Howells 
hurried  out  to  them,  as  though  to  prevent 
any  possibility  of  them  slipping  across  to  the 
other  side  of  the  road. 

This  was  almost  more  than  Hieronymus 
could  bear  quietly.  He  could  scarcely  re- 
frain from  opening  the  Green  Dragon  door 
and  advertising  in  a  loud  voice  the  manifold 
virtues  of  Mrs.  Benbow's  ale  and  spirits. 
But  he  recollected  in  time  that  even  wayside 
inns  have  their  fixed  code  of  etiquette,  and 
that  nothing  remained  for  him  but  to  possess 
his  soul  in  patience.  He  was  rewarded;  in 
a  few    minutes  a  procession  of  wagons    filed 


HIERONYMUS  STAYS  61 

slowly  past  the  Green  Dragon;  he  counted 
ten  horses  and  five  men.  Would  they  stop? 
Hieronymus  waited  in  breathless  excitement. 
Yes,  they  did  stop,  and  four  of  the  drivers 
came  into  the  kitchen.  "Where  is  the  fifth?" 
asked  Hieronymus  sharply,  having  a  keen  eye 
to  business.  "He  is  minding  the  horses,"  they 
answered,  looking  at  him  curiously.  But 
they  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  he 
was  there  to  serve  them,  and  they  leaned 
back  luxuriously  in  the  great  oak  settle,  while 
Hieronymus  poured  out  the  beer,  and  re- 
ceived  in   exchange     some    grimy    coppers. 

After  they  had  gone  the  fifth  man  came  to 
have  his  share  of  the  refreshments;  and  then 
followed  a  long  pause,  which  seemed  to  Hi- 
eronymus like  whole  centuries. 

"It  was  during  a  lengthened  period  like 
this,"  he  remarked  to  himself,  as  he  paced 
up  and  down  the  kitchen — "yes,  it  was  dur- 
ing infinite  time  like  this  that  the  rugged 
rocks  became  waveworn  pebbles!" 


62  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  sound  of  horses' 
feet. 

"It  is  a  rider,"  he  said.  "I  shall  have  to  go 
out  to  him."  He  hastened  to  the  door,  and 
saw  a  young  woman  on  a  great  white  horse. 
She  carried  a  market  basket  on  her  arm. 
She  wore  no  riding-habit,  but  was  dressed  in 
the  ordinary  way.  There  was  nothing  pictur- 
esque about  her  appearance,  but  Hieronymus 
thought  her  face  looked  interesting.  She 
glanced  at  him  as  though  she, wondered  what 
he  could  possibly  be  doing  at  the  Green 
Dragon. 

"Well,  and  what  may  I  do  for  you?"  he 
asked.  He  did  not  quite  like  to  say,  "What 
may  I  bring  for  you?"  He  left  her  to  decide 
that  matter. 

"I  wanted  to  see  Mrs.  Benbow,"  she  said. 

"She  is  busy  doing  the  washing,"  he  an- 
swered. "But  I  will  go  and  tell  her,  if  you 
will  kindly  detain  any  customer  who  may 
chance  to  pass  by." 


HIERONYMUS  STAYS  63 

He  hurried  away,  and  came  back  with  the 
answer  that  Mrs.  Benbow  would  be  out  in 
a  minute. 

"Thank  you,"  the  young  woman  said 
quietly.  Then  she  added:  "You  have  hurt 
your  arm,  I  see." 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "it  is  a  great  nuisance. 
I  cannot  write.  I  have  been  wondering 
whether  I  could  get  any  one  to  write  for  me. 
Do  you  know  of  any  one.'" 

"No,"  she  said  bitterly;  "we  don't  write 
here.  We  make  butter  and  cheese,  and  we 
fatten  up  our  poultry,  and  then  we  go  to 
market  and  sell  our  butter,  cheese,  and  poul- 
try." 

"Well,"  said  Hieronymus,  "and  why 
shouldn't  you?" 

He  looked  up  at  her,  and  saw  what  a  dis- 
contented expression  had  come  over  her 
young  face. 

She  took  no  notice  of  his  interruption,  but 
just  switched  the  horse's  ears  with  the  end 
of  her  whip. 


64  AT  THE  GREEN  DR/iGON 

"That  is  what  we  do  year  after  year,"  she 
continued,  "until  I  suppose  we  have  become 
so  dull  that  we  don't  care  to  do  anything 
else.  That  is  what  we  have  come  into  the 
world  for:  to  make  butter  and  cheese,  and 
fatten  up  our  poultry,  and  go  to  market." 

"Yes,"  he  answered  cheerily,  "and  we 
all  have  to  do  it  in  some  form  or  other. 
We  all  go  to  market  to  sell  our  goods,  whether 
they  be  brains,  or  practical  common-sense 
(which  often,  you  know,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  brains),  or  butter,  or  poultry.  Now  I 
don't  know,  of  course,  what  you  have  in 
your  basket;  but  supposing  you  have  eggs, 
which  you  are  taking  to  market.  Well,  you 
are  precisely  in  the  same  condition  as  the 
poet  who  is  on  his  way  to  a  publisher's,  car- 
rying a  new  poem  in  his  vest  pocket.  And 
yet  there  is  a  difference." 

"Of  course  there  is,"  she  jerked  out  scorn- 
fully. 

"Yes,  there  is  a  difference,"  he  continued, 


HIERONYMUS  STAYS  65 

placidly;  "it  is  this:  _you  will  return  with- 
out those  eggs,  but  the  poet  will  come  back 
still  carrying  his  poem  in  his  breast-pocket!" 

Then  he  laughed  at  his  own  remark. 

"That  is  how  things  go  in  the  great  world, 
you  know,"  he  said.  "Out  in  the  great 
world  there  is  an  odd  way  of  settling  matters. 
Still  they  must  be  settled  somehow  or  other!" 

"Out  in  the  world!"  she  exclaimed.  "That 
is  wheie  I  long  to  go." 

"Then  why  on  earth  don't  you.?" he  replied. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Benbow  came  run- 
ning out. 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting, 
Miss  Hammond,"  she  said  to  the  young  girl; 
"but  what  with  the  washing  and  the  mak- 
ing ready  for  the  brewing  to-morrow,  I  don't 
know  where  to  turn." 

Then  followed  a  series  of  messages  to 
which  Hieronymus  paid  no  attention.  And 
then  Miss  Hammond  cracked  her  whip,  waved 
her  greetings  with  it,  and  the  old  white  horse 
trotted  away. 


06  yiT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"And  who  is  the  rider  of  the  horse?"  asked 
Hieronymus. 

"Oh,  she  is  Farmer  Hammond's  daughter," 
said  Mrs.  Benbow.  "Her  name  is  Joan.  She 
is  an  odd  girl,  different  from  the  other  girls 
here.  They  say  she  is  quite  a  scholar  too. 
Why,  she  would  be  the  one  to  write  for 
you.  The  very  one,  of  course!  I'll  call  to 
her." 

But  by  that  time  the  old  white  horse  was 
out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    PRIMARY    GLORY. 

The  next  day  at  the  Green  Dragon  was  a 
busy  one.  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Benbow  were  up 
betimes,  banging  casks  about  in  the  cellar. 
When  Hieronymus  Howard  came  down  to 
breakfast,  he  found  that  they  had  brought 
three  barrels  into  the  kitchen,  and  that  one 
was  already  half  full  of  some  horrible  brown 
liquid,  undergoing  the  process  of  fermentation. 
He  felt  himself  much  aggrieved  that  he  was 
unable  to  contribute  his  share  of  work  to 
the  proceedings.  It  was  but  little  comfort  to 
him  that  he  was  again  allowed  to  attend  to 
the  customers.  The  pouring  out  of  the  beer 
had  lost  its   charm  for  him. 

"It  is  a  secondary  glory  to  pour  out  the 
67 


68  AT  THE  GRbEN  DRAGON 

beer,"  he  grumbled.   •'!  aspire  to  the  primary 
glory  of  helping  to  make  the  beer." 

Mrs.  Benbow  was  heaping  on  the  coal  in 
the  furnace.  She  turned  round  and  looked 
at  the  disconsolate  figure. 

"There  is  one  thing  you  might  do,"  she 
said.  "I've  not  half  enough  barm.  There  are 
two  or  three  places  where  you  might  call  for 
some;  and  between  them  all  perhaps  you '11 
get  enough." 

She  then  mentioned  three  houses,  Farmer 
Hammond's  being  among  the  number. 

"Very  likely  the  Hammonds  would  oblige 
us,"  she  said.  "They  are  neighborly  folk. 
They  live  at  the  Malt-House  Farm,  two 
miles  off.  You  can't  carry  the  jar,  but  you 
can  take  the  perambulator  and  wheel  it  back. 
I've  often  done  that  when  I  had  much  to 
carry." 

Hieronymus  Howard  looked  doubtfully  at 
the  perambulator. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  submissively.    "I  sup- 


THE  PRIMARY  GLORY  60 

pose  I  shall  only  look  like  an  ordinary  tramp. 
It  seems  to  be  the  fashion  to  tramp  on  this 
road !" 

It  never  entered  his  head  to  rebel.  The 
great  jar  was  lifted  into  the  perambulator, 
and  Hieronymus  wheeled  it  away,  still  keep- 
ing up  his  dignity,  though  under  somewhat 
trying  circumstances. 

"I  rather  wish  I  had  not  mentioned  anything 
about  primary  glory,  "he  remarked  to  himself. 
"However,  I  will  not  faint  by  the  wayside; 
Mrs.  Benbow  is  a  person  not  lightly  to  be 
disobeyed.  In  this  respect  she  reminds  me 
distinctly  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  or  Margaret  of 
Anjou,  with  just  a  dash  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte!" 

So  he  walked  on  along  the  highroad. 
Two  or  three  tramps  passed  him,  wheeling 
similar  perambulators,  some  heaped  up  with 
rags  and  old  tins  and  umbrellas,  and  occasion- 
ally a  baby;   representing   the  sum    total  of 

their   respective   possessions   in   the   world. 

1 


70  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

They  looked    at    him   with   curiosity,  but  no 
pleasantry     passed    their    lips.      There    was 
nothing  to  laugh  at  in    Hieronymus'  appear- 
ance;  there    was  a  quiet    dignity    about  him 
which  was  never  lost  on  any  one.     His  bear- 
ing tallied  with   his  character,  the  character 
of  a    mellowed    human    being.      There  was  a 
restfulness    about    him    which    had    soothed 
more  than  one  tired  person;    not  the  restful- 
ness of  stupidity,  but  the  repose  only  gained 
by  those  who  have  struggled  through  a  great 
fever  to  a    great    calm.      His    was    a  clean- 
shaven face;   his  hair  was  iron-gray.      There 
was  a  kind    but    firm  expression    about    his 
mouth,  and  a    suspicion  of  humor   lingering 
in    the     corners.      His    eyes    looked    at    you 
frankly.     There    seemed    to  be  no    self-con- 
sciousness in  his  manner;   long  ago,  perhaps, 
he  had  managed  to   get    away  from    himself. 
He  enjoyed  the  country,  and  stopped  more 
than  once  to  pick  some  richly  tinted  leaf,  or 
some  tiny  flower  nestling  in  the    hedge.     He 


THE  PRIMARY  GLORY  71 

confided  all  his  treasures  to  the  care  of  the 
perambulator.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning, 
and  the  sun  lit  up  the  hills,  which  were  girt 
with  a  belt  of  many  gems:  a  belt  of  trees,  each 
rivaling  the  other  in  colored  luxuriance.  Hi- 
eronymus  sang.  Then  he  turned  down  a 
lane  to  the  left  and  found  some  nuts.  He 
ate  these,  and  went  on  his  way  again,  and  at 
last  found  himself  outside  a  farm  of  large 
and  important  aspect.  A  man  was  stacking 
a  hayrick.    Hieronymus  watched  him  keenly. 

"Good  gracious!"  he  exclaimed;  "I  wish  I 
could  do  that.  How  on  earth  do  you  man- 
age it.?     And  did    it  take  you  long  to  learni*" 

The  man  smiled  in  the  usual  yokel  fashion, 
and  went  on  with  his  work.  Hieronymus 
plainly  did  not  interest  him. 

"Is  this  the  Malt-House  Farm.?" cried  Hie- 
ronymus   lustily. 

"What  else  should  it  be.?"  answered  the 
man. 

"These  rural  characters  are  inclined  to  be 


72  yIT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

one-sided,"  thought  Hieronymus,  as  he 
opened  the  gate  and  wheeled  the  perambu- 
lator into  the  pretty  garden.  "It  seems  to 
me  that  they  are  almost  as  narrow-minded 
as  the  people  who  live  in  cities  and  pride 
themselves  on  their  breadth  of  view.  Almost 
— but  on  reflection,  not  quite!" 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  porch,  and 
a  great  bustling  woman  opened  it.  He  ex- 
plained his  mission  to  her,  and  pointed  to 
the  jar  for  the  barm. 

"You  would  oblige  Mrs.  Benbow  greatly, 
ma'am,"  he  said.  "In  fact,  we  cannot  get 
on  with  our  beer  unless  you  come  to  our 
assistance." 

'Step  into  the  parlor,  sir,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing, "and  I'll  see  how  much  we've  got.  I 
think  you  are  the  gentleman  who  fought  the 
gypsies.      You've  hurt  your  arm,  I  see." 

"Yes,  a  great  nuisance,"  he  answered 
cheerily;  "and  that  reminds  me  of  my  other 
request.   I  want  some  one  to  write  for  me  an 


THE  PRIM/tRY  GLORY  73 

hoar  or  two  every  day.  Mrs.  Benbow  men- 
tioned your  daughter,  the  young  lady  who 
came  to  us  on    the  white   horse   yesterday." 

He  was  going  to  add:  "The  young  lady 
who  wishes  to  go  out  into  the  world;"  but 
he  checked  himself,  guessing  by  instinct  that 
the  young  lady  and  her  mother  had  probably 
very  little  in  common. 

"Perhaps,  though,"  he  said,  "I  take  a 
liberty  in  making  the  suggestion.  If  so,  you 
have  only  to  reprove  me,  and  that  is  the  end 
of  it." 

"Oh, I  daresay  she'd  like  to  write  for  you," 
said  Mrs.  Hammond,  "if  she  can  be  spared 
from  the  butter  and  the  fowls.  She  likes 
books  and  pen  and  paper.  They're  things 
as  I  don't  favor." 

"No,"  said  Hieronymus,  suddenly  filled 
with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  his  own  lit- 
tleness; "you  are  occupied  with  other  more 
useful  matters." 

"Yes,   indeed,"   rejoined    Mrs.    Hammond 


74  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

fervently.  "Well,  if  you'll  be  seated,  I'll 
send  Joan  to  you,  and  I'll  see  about  the 
barm." 

Hieronymus  settled  down  in  an  old  chair, 
and  took  a  glance  at  the  comfortable  paneled 
room.  There  was  every  appearance  of  ease 
about  the  Malt-House  Farm,  and  yet  Farmer 
Hammond  and  his  wife  toiled  incessantly 
from  morning  to  evening,  exacting  continual 
labor  from  their  daughter  too.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  brass-work  in  the  parlor;  it 
was  kept  spotlessly  bright. 

In  a  few  minutes  Joan  came  in.  She  car- 
ried the  jar. 

"I  have  filled  the  jar  with  barm,"  she  said, 
without  any  preliminaries  "One  of  the  men 
can  take  it  back  if  you  like." 

"Oh  no,  thank  you,"  he  said  cheerily,  look- 
ing at  her  with  some  interest.  "It  came  in 
the  perambulator;  it  can  return  in  the  same 
conveyance." 

She  bent   over  the  table,  leaning    against 


THE  PRIM/IRY  GLORY  75 

the  jar.  She  smiled  at  his  words,  and  the 
angry  look  of  resentfulness,  which  seemed 
to  be  her  habitual  expression,  gave  way  to  a 
more  pleasing  one.  Joan  was  not  good-look- 
ing, but  her  face  was  decidedly  interesting. 
She  was  of  middle  stature,  slight  but  strong; 
not  the  typical  country  girl  with  rosy  cheeks, 
but  pale,  though  not  unhealthy.  She  was 
dark  of  complexion ;  soft  brown  hair,  over 
which  she  seemed  to  have  no  control,  was 
done  into  a  confused  mass  at  the  back,  un- 
tidy, but  pleasing.  Her  forehead  was  not 
interfered  with;  you  might  see  it  for  yourself, 
and  note  the  great  bumps  which  those  rogues 
of  phrenologists  delight  to  finger.  She  car- 
ried her  head  proudly,  and  from  certain  de- 
termined jerks  which  she  gave  to  it  you  might 
judge  of  her  decided  character.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  dark  gown,  and  wore  an  apron 
of  coarse  linen.  At  the  most  she  was  nine- 
teen years  of  age.  Hieronymus  just  glanced 
at  her,  and  could  not  help  comparing  her 
with  her  mother. 


76  AT  THE  GREEN   DRAGON 

"Well,"    he    said    pleasantly,    "and    now, 

having  settled  the  affairs  of  the  Green  Dragon, 

I  proceed  to  my  own.      Will  you    come    and 

be   my  scribbler   for  a  few  days?     Or  if  you 

wish  for  a  grander  title,  will  you  act  as  my 

amanuensis?     I  am    sadly  in  need   of  a  little 

help.     I  have  found  out  that  you  can  help 

me." 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  could  read  my 

writing,"  she  said  shyly. 

"That  does  not  matter  in  the  least,"  he 
answered.  "I  shan't  have  to  read  it.  Some 
one  else  will." 

"My  spelling  is  not  faultless,"  she  said. 

"Also  a  trifle!"  he  replied.  "Spelling,  like 
every  other  virtue,  is  a  relative  thing,  de- 
pending largely  on  the  character  of  the  indi- 
vidual.     Have  you  any  other  objection?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  smiled  brightly  at 

him. 

"I  should  like  to  write  for  you,"  she  said, 
"if  only  I  could  do  it  well  enough." 


THE  PRIMARY  GLORY  77 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  answered  kindly. 
"Mrs.  Benbow  tells  me  you  are  a  young 
lady  who  does  good  work.  I  admire  that 
beyond  everything.  You  fatten  up  the  poul- 
try well,  you  make  butter  and  pastry  well — 
shouldn't  I  just  hke  to  taste  it!  And  I  am 
sure  you  have  cleaned  this  brass-work." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "when  I'm  tired  of  every 
one  and  everything,  I  go  and  rub  up  the 
brasses  until  they  are  spotless.  When  I  am 
utterly  weary  of  the  whole  concern,  and  just 
burning  to  get  away  from  this  stupid  little 
village,  I  polish  the  candlesticks  and  handles 
until  my  arms  are  worn  out.  I  had  a  good 
turn  at  it  yesterday." 

"Was  yesterday  a  bad  day  with  you, then?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "When  I  was  riding 
the  old  white  horse  yesterday,  I  just  felt  that 
I  could  go  on  riding,  riding  forever.  But 
she  is  such  a  slow  coach.  She  won't  go 
quickly !" 


78  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"No,  I  should  think  you  could  walk  more 
quickly,"  said  Hieronymus.  "Your  legs  would 
take  you  out  into  the  world  more  swiftly 
than  that  old  white  horse.  And  being  clear 
of  this  little  village,  and  being  out  in  the 
great  world,  what  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"To  learn !"  she  cried;  "to  learn  to  know 
something  about  life,  and  to  get  to  have 
other  interests:  something  great  and  big, 
something  worth  wearing  one's  strength  away 
for."  Then  she  stopped  suddenly.  "What 
a  goose  I  am!"  she  said,  turning  away  half 
ashamed. 

"Something  great  and  big,"  he  repeated. 
"Cynics  would  tell  you  that  you  have  aweary 
quest  before  you.  But  I  think  it  is  very  easy 
to  find  something  great  and  big.  Only  it  all 
depends  on  the  strength  of  your  telescope. 
You  must  order  the  best  kind,  and  unfortu- 
nately one  can't  afford  the  best  kind  when 
one  is  very  young.  You  have  to  pay  for  your 
telescope,  not  with    money,  but  with    years. 


THE  PRIMARY  GLORY  79 

But  when  at  last  it  comes  into  your  posses- 
sion— ah,  how  it  alters    the  look  of  things!" 

He  paused  a  moment,  as  though  lost  in 
thought;  and  then,  with  the  brightness  so 
characteristic  of  him,  he  added: 

"Well,  I  must  be  going  home  to  my  hum- 
ble duties  at  the  Green  Dragon,  and  you,  no 
doubt,  have  to  return  to  your  task  of  feeding 
up  the  poultry  for  the  market.  When  is  mar- 
ket-day at  Church  Stretton?" 

"On  Friday,"  she  answered. 

"That  is  the  day  I  have  to  send  off  some 
of  my  writing,"  he  said;  "my  market-day, 
also,  you  see." 

"Are  you  a  poet?"  she  asked  timidly. 

"No,"  he  answered,  smiling  at  her;  "I  am 
that  poor  creature,  an  historian:  one  of  those 
restless  persons  who  furridge  among  the 
annals  of  the  past." 

"Oh,"  she  said  enthusiastically,  "I  have 
always  cared  more  about  history  than  any- 
thing else!" 


80  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"Well,  then,  if  you  come  to-morrow  to  the 
Green  Dragon  at  eleven  o'clock,"  he  said 
kindly,  "you  will  have  the  privilege  of  writ* 
ing  history  instead  of  reading  it  And  now  [ 
suppose  I  must  hasten  back  to  the  tyranny 
of  Queen  Elizabeth  Can  you  lift  that  jar 
into   the    perambulator?     You  see   I  can't." 

She  hoisted  it  into  the  perambulator,  and 
then  stood  at  the  gate,  watching  him  as  he 
pushed  it  patiently  over  the  rough  road. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  MAKING  OF  THE  PASTRY. 

That  same  afternoon  Mrs.  Hammond  put 
on  her  best  things  and  drove  in  the  dogcart 
to  Minton,  where  Auntie  Lloyd  of  the  Tan- 
House  Farm  was  giving  a  tea-party.  Joan 
had  refused  to  go.  She  had  a  profound  con- 
tempt for  these  social  gatherings,  and  Auntie 
Lloyd  and  she  had  no  great  love,  the  one 
for  the  other.  Auntie  Lloyd,  who  was  re- 
garded as  the  oracle  of  the  family,  summed 
Joan  up  in  a  few  sentences: 

"She's  a  wayward    creature,  with    all    her 

fads  about  books    and    book    learning.      I've 

no  patience  with  her.     Fowls  and  butter  and 

such  things  have   been  good  enough   for  us; 

why  does  she  want  to   meddle  with  things 
81 


82  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

which  don't  concern  her?  She's  clever  at 
her  work,  and  diligent  too.  If  it  weren't  for 
that,  uiere'd  be  no  abiding  her." 

Joan  summed  Auntie  Lloyd  up  in  a  few 
words: 

"Oh,  she's  Auntie  Lloyd,"  she  said,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders. 

So  when  her  mother  urged  her  to  go  to 
Minton  to  this  tea-party,  which  was  to  be 
something  special,  Joan  said: 

"No,  I  don't  care  about  going.  Auntie 
Lloyd  worries  me  to  death.  And  what  with 
her,  and  the  rum  in  the  tea,  and  those  hor- 
rid crumpets,  I'd  far  rather  stay  at  home, 
and  make  pastry  and  read  a  book." 

So  she  stayed.  There  was  plenty  of  pastry 
in  the  larder,  and  there  seemed  no  particular 
reason  why  she  should  add  to  the  store. 
But  she  evidently  thought  differently  about 
the  matter,  for  she  went  into  the  kitchen  and 
rolled  up  her  sleeves   and    began    her    work. 

"I  hope  this  will  be  the  best  pastry  I  have 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  PASTRY  83 

ever  made,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  pre- 
pared several  jam-puffs  and  an  open  tart. 
"I  should  like  him  to  taste  my  pastry.  An 
historian.  I  wonder  what  we  shall  write 
about  to-morrow." 

She  put  the  pastry  into  the  oven,  and  sat 
lazily  in  the  ingle,  nursing  her  knees,  and 
musing.  She  was  thinking  the  whole  time 
of  Hieronymus,  of  his  kind  and  genial  man- 
ner, and  his  face  with  the  iron-gray  hair;  she 
would  remember  him  always,  even  if  she 
never  saw  h^m  again.  Once  or  twice  it  crossed 
her  mind  that  she  had  been  foolish  to  speak 
so  impatiently  to  him  of  her  village  life.  He 
would  just  think  her  a  silly,  discontented 
girl,  and  nothing  more.  And  yet  it  had 
seemed  so  natural  to  talk  to  him  in  that 
strain;  she  knew  by  instinct  that  he  would 
understand,  and  he  was  the  first  she  had  ever 
met  who  would  be  likely  to  understand.  The 
others — her  father,  her  mother,  David  Ellis 
the  exciseman,  who  was  supposed  to  be  fond 


84  /IT  THE  GREEN  DR/IGOS 

of  her,  these  and  others  in  the  neighborhood 
— what  did  they  care  about  her  desires  to  im- 
prove her  mind,  and  widen  out  her  life,  and 
multiply  her  interests?  She  had  been  waiting 
for  months,  almost  for  years  indeed,  to  speak 
openly  to  some  one;  she  could  not  have  let 
the  chance  go  by,  now  that  it  had  come  to 
her. 

The  puffs  meanwhile  were  forgotten.  When 
at  last  she  recollected  them,  she  hastened  to 
their  rescue,  and  found  she  was  only  just  in 
time.  Two  were  burned;  she  placed  the 
others  in  a  dish,  and  threw  the  damaged  ones 
on  the  table.  As  she  did  so  the  kitchen  door 
opened,  and  the  exciseman  came  in,  and  see- 
ing the  pastry,  he  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  Joan,  making  pastry!  Then  I'll  test 
it!" 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  said 
half  angrily,  as  she  put  her  hands  over  the 
dish.  "I  won't  have  it  touched.  You  can 
eat  the  burnt  ones  if  you  like." 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  PASTRY  85 

"Not  I,"  he  answered.  "I  want  the  best. 
Why,  Joan,  what's  the  matter  with  you? 
You're  downright  cross  to-day.  " 

"I'm  no  different  from  usual,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  you  are,"  he  said;  "and  what's  more, 
you  grow  different  every  week." 

"I  grow  more  tired  of  this  horrid  little  vil- 
lage and  every  one  in  it,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  she  answered. 

He  had  thrown  his  whip  on  the  chair,  and 
stood  facing  her.  He  was  a  prosperous  man, 
much  respected,  and  much  liked  for  many 
miles  round  Little  Stretton.  It  was  an  open 
secret  that  he  loved  Joan  Hammond,  the  only 
question  in  the  village  being  whether  Joan 
would  have  him  when  the  time  came  for  him 
to  propose  to  her.  No  girl  in  her  senses 
would  have  been  likely  to  refuse  the  excise- 
man; but  then  Joan  was  not  in  her  senses, 
so  that  anything  might  be  expected  of  her. 
At  least  such  was  the  verdict  of  Auntie  Lloyd, 
who  regarded  her  niece  with  the  strictest  dis- 


86  yIT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

approval.  Joan  had  always  been  more  friend- 
ly with  David  than  with  any  one  else;  and 
it  was  no  doubt  this  friendliness,  remarkable 
in  one  who  kept  habitually  apart  from  others, 
which  had  encouraged  David  to  go  on  hoping 
to  win  her,  not  by  persuasion  but  by  patience. 
He  loved  her,  indeed  he  had  always  loved  her; 
a^d  in  the  old  days,  when  he  was  a  school- 
boy and  she  was  a  little  baby  child,  he  had 
left  his  companions  to  go  and  play  with  his 
tiny  girl-friend  up  at  the  Malt-House  Farm. 
He  had  no  sister  of  his  own,  and  he  liked 
to  nurse  and  pet  the  querulous  little  creature 
who  was  always  quiet  in  his  arms  He  could 
soothe  her  when  no  one  else  had  any  influ- 
ence. But  the  years  had  come  and  gone, 
and  they  had  grown  apart;  not  he  from  her, 
but  she  from  him.  And  now  he  stood  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  old  farm,  reading  in  her  very 
manner  the  answer  to  the  question  which  he 
had  not  yet  asked  her.  That  question  was 
always  on  his  lips;  how  many    times    had  he 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  PASTRY  87 

not  said  it  aloud  when  he  rode  his  horse 
over  the  country?  But  Joan  was  forbidding 
of  late  months,  and  especially  of  late  weeks, 
and  the  exciseman  had  always  told  himself 
sadly  that  the  right  moment  had  not  yet 
come.  And  to-day,  also,  it  was  not  the 
right  moment.  A  great  sorrow  seized  him, 
for  he  longed  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her, 
and  that  he  was  yearning  to  make  her  happy. 
She  should  have  books  of  her  own;  books, 
books,  books;  he  had  already  bought  a  few 
volumes  to  form  the  beginning  of  her  library. 
They  were  not  well  chosen,  perhaps,  but 
there  they  were,  locked  up  in  his  private 
drawer.  He  was  not  learned,  but  he  would 
learn  for  her  sake.  All  this  flashed  through 
his  mind  as  he  stood  before  her.  He  looked  at 
her  face,  and  could  not  trace  one  single  expres- 
sion of  kindliness  or  encouragement. 

"Then  I  must  go  on  waiting,"  he  thought, 
and  he  stooped  and  picked  up  his  whip 

"Good-bye,  Joan,"  he  said  quietly 


88  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

The  kitchen  door  swung  on  its  hinges,  and 
Joan  was  once  more  alone. 

"An  historian,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
took  away  the  rolling-pin,  and  put  the  pastry 
into  the  larder.  "I  wonder  what  we  shall 
write  about  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  V. 

PASTRY  AND  PERSONAL  MONARCHY. 

Joan  sat  in  the  parlor  of  the  Green  Dragon, 
waiting  until  Hieronymus  had  finished  eating 
a  third  jam-puff,  and  could  pronounce  him- 
self ready  to  begin  dictating.  A  few  papers 
were  scattered  about  on  the  table,  and  Gam- 
boge was  curled  up  on  the  hearth-rug.  Joan 
was  radiant  with  pleasure,  for  this  was  her 
nearest  approach  to  intellectuality;  a  new 
world  had  opened  to  her  as  though  by 
magic.  And  she  was  radiant  with  another 
kind  of  pleasure:  this  was  only  the  third  time 
she  had  seen  the  historian,  and  each  time 
she  was  the  happier.  It  was  at  first  a  little 
shock  to  her  sense  of  intellectual  propriety 
that  the  scholar  yonder  could  condescend   to 


90  ^7  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

SO  trivial  a  matter  as  pastry;  but  then  K\e- 
ronyinus  had  his  own  way  about  him,  which 
carried  conviction  in  the  end. 

"Well,"  he  said  cheerily.  "I  think  I  am 
ready  to  begin.  Dear  me!  What  excellent 
pastry!" 

Joan  smiled,  and  dipped  her  pen  in  the 
ink. 

"And  to  t/iifik  that  David  nearly  ate  it!" 
she  said  to  herself.  And  that  was  about  the 
first  time  she  had  thought  of  him  since  yes- 
terday. 

Then  the  historian  began.  His  language 
was  simple  and  dignified,  like  the  man  him- 
self. His  subject  was  "An  Introduction  to 
the  Personal  Monarchy,  which  began  with 
the  reign  of  Henry  VHI."  Everything  he 
said  was  crystal-clear.  Moreover,  he  had 
that  rare  gift,  the  power  of  condensing  and 
of  suggesting  too.  He  was  nothing  if  not  an 
impressionist.  Joan  had  no  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing pace  with   him,  for   he   dictated    slowly. 


P/1STRY  AND  PERSONAL  MONARCHY         91 

After  nearly  two  hours  he   left  off,  and   gave 
a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

"There  now,"  he  said,  "that's  enough  for 
to-day."  And  he  seemed  just  like  a  school- 
boy released  from  lessons. 

"Come,  come,"  he  added,  as  he  looked 
over  the  manuscript.  "I  shall  be  quite  proud 
to  send  that  in  to  the  printer.  You  would 
make  a  capital  little  secretary.  You  are  so 
quiet  and  you  don't  scratch  with  your  pen: 
quahties  which  are  only  too  rare.  Well, 
we  shall  be  able  to  go  on  with  this  work,  if 
you  can  spare  the  time  and  will  oblige  me. 
And  we  must  make  some  arrangements  about 
money  matters." 

"As  for  that,"  said  Joan  hastily,  "it's  such 
a  change  from  the  never-ending  fowls  and 
that  everlasting  butter." 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Hieronymus,  as  he 
took  his  pipe  from  the  mantel-shelf.  "But 
all  the  same,  we  will  be  business-like.  Be- 
sides, consider  the  advantage;    you    will  be 


92  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

earning  a  little  money  with  which  you  can 
either  buy  books  to  read,  or  fowls  to  fatten 
up.      You  can  take  your  choice,  you    know.'* 

"I  should  choose  the  books,"  she  said,  quite 
fiercely. 

"How  spiteful  you  are  to  those  fowls!"  he 
said. 

"So  would  you  be,  if  you  had  been  looking 
after  them  all  your  life,"  Joan  answered,  still 
more  fiercely. 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  you  being  a  vol- 
canic young  lady,"  Hieronymus  remarked 
thoughtfully.  "But  I  understand,  I  was 
also  a  volcano  once.  I  am  now  extinct.  You 
will  be  extinct  after  a  few  years,  and  you 
will  be  thankful  for  the  repose.  But  one 
has  to  go  through  a  great  many  eruptions  as 
preliminaries  to  peace." 

"Any  kind  of  experience  is  better  than.none 
at  all,"  Joan  said,  more  gently  this  time. 
"You  can't  think  how  I  dread  a  life  in  which 
nothing  happens.      I  want   to    have  my  days 


PASTRY  AND  PERSONAL  MONARCHY  93 

crammed  full  of  interests  and  events.  Then 
I  shall  learn  something;  but  here — what  can 
one  learn?  You  should  just  see  Auntie 
Lloyd,  and  be  with  her  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  When  you've  seen  her,  you've  seen 
the  whole  neighborhood.  Oh,  how  I  dislike 
her!" 

Her  tone  of  voice  expressed  so  heartily  her 
feelings  about  Auntie  Lloyd  that  Hieronymus 
laughed,  and  Joan  laughed  too. 

She  had  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  stood 
ready  to  go  home.  The  historian  stroked 
Gamboge,  put  away  his  papers,  and  expressed 
himself  inclined  to  accompany  Joan  part  of 
the  way. 

He  ran  to  the  kitchen  to  tell  Mrs.  Benbow 
that  he  would  not  be  long  gone. 

"Dinner  won't  be  ready  for  quite  an  hour,'* 
she  said,  "as  the  butcher  came  so  late.  But 
here  is  a  cup  of  beef-tea  for  you.  You  look 
rather  tired." 

"I've  had  such  a  lot  of  pastry,"  Hierony- 


94  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

mus  pleaded,  and  he  turned  to  Mr.  Benbow, 
who  had  just  come  into  the  kitchen  followed 
by  his  faithful  collie.  "I  don't  feel  as  though 
I  could  manage  the  beef-tea." 

"It's  no  use  kicking  over  the  traces,"  said 
Mr.  Benbow, laughing.  "I've  found  that  out 
long  ago.      Sarah  is  a  tyrant." 

But  it  was  evidently  a  tyranny  which  suited 
him  very  well,  for  there  seemed  to  be  a  kind 
of  settled  happiness  between  the  host  and 
hostess  of  the  Green  Dragon.  Some  such 
thought  passed  through  Hieronymus'  mind  as 
he  gulped  down  the  beef-tea,  and  then 
started  off  happily  with  Joan. 

"I  like  both  the  Benbows,"  he  said  to  her. 
"And  it  is  very  soothing  to  be  with  people 
who  are  happy  together.  I'm  cozily  housed 
there,  and  not  at  all  sorry  to  have  had  my 
plans  altered  by  the  gypsies;  especially  now 
that  I  can  go  on  with  my  work  so  comfort- 
ably. My  friends  in  Wales  may  wait  for  me 
as  long  as  they  choose." 


PASTRY  /IND  PERSONAL  MONARCHY         95 

Joan  would  have  wished  to  tell  him  how 
glad  she  was  that  he  was  going  to  stay.  But 
she  just  smiled  happily  He  was  so  bright 
himself  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  be 
happy  in  his  company. 

"I'm  so  pleased  I  have  done  some  dictating 
to-day,"  he  said,  as  he  plucked  an  autumn 
leaf  and  put  it  into  his  buttonhole.  "And  now 
I  can  enjoy  myself  all  the  more  You  cannot 
think  how  I  do  enjoy  the  country.  These 
hills  are  so  wonderfully  soothing.  I  never 
remember  being  in  a  place  where  the  hills 
have  given  me  such  a  sense  of  repose  as  here. 
Those  words  constantly  recur  to    me: 

'His  dews  drop  mutely  on  the  hill, 

His  cloud  above  it  saileth  still, 

(Though  on  its  slopes  men  sow  and  reap). 

More  softly  than  the  dew  is  shed, 

Or  cloud  is  floated  overhead. 

He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep.' 

"It's  all  so  true,  you  know,  and  yonder  are 
the  slopes  cultivated  by  men.  I  am  always 
thinking  of  these  words    here.     They  match 


96  //r   THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

with  the  hills  and  they  match  with  my  feel- 
ings." 

"I  have  never  thought  about  the  hills  in 
that  way,"  she  said. 

"No,"  he  answered  kindly,  "because  you 
are  not  tired  yet.  But  when  you  are  tired, 
not  with  imaginary  battlings,  but  with  the 
real  campaigns  of  life,  then  you  will  think 
about    the   dews   falling  softly  on   the   hills." 

"Are  you  tired,  then?"  she   asked. 

"I  have  been  very  tired,"  he  answered 
simply. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  then  he  added:  "You  wished  for 
knowledge,  and  here  you  are  surrounded  by 
opportunities  for  attaining  to    it." 

"I  have  never  found  Auntie  Lloyd  a  spec- 
ially interesting  subject  for  study,"  Joan  said 
obstinately, 

Hieronymus  smiled. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  Auntie  Lloyd,"  he 
said.      "I  was  thinking  of  all   these  beautiful 


PASTRY  y4ND  PERSON/iL  M0N,4RCHY         97 

hedges,  these  lanes  with  their  countless  treas- 
ures, and  this  stream  with  its  bed  of  stones, 
and  those  hills  yonder;  all  of  them  eloquent 
with  the  wonder  of  the  earth's  history.  You 
are  literally  surrounded  with  the  means  of 
making  your  minds  beautiful,  you  country 
people.     And  why  don't  you  do  it?" 

Joan  listened.  This  was  new  language  to 
her. 

Hieronymus  continued: 

"The  sciences  are  here  for  you.  They 
offer  themselves  to  you,  without  stint,  without 
measure.  Nature  opens  her  book  to  you. 
Have  you  ever  tried  to  read  it.-*  From  the 
things  which  fret  and  worry  our  souls,  from 
the  people  who  worry  and  fret  us,  from  our- 
selves who  worry  and  fret  ourselves,  we  can 
at  least  turn  to  Nature.  There  we  find  our 
right  place,  a  resting  place  of  intense  repose. 
There  we  lose  that  troublesome  part  of  our- 
selves, our  own  sense  of  importance.  Then 
we  rest,  and  not  until  ther 


98  /IT  THE  GKEHN  DR/tGON 

"Why  should  you  speak  to  me  of  rest?"  the 
girl  cried,  her  fund  of  patience  and  control 
coming  suddenly  to  an  end.  "I  don't  want 
to  rest.  I  want  to  live  a  full, rich  life, crammed 
with  interests.  I  want  to  learn  about  life 
itself,  not  about  things.  It  is  so  absurd  to 
talk  to  me  of  rest.  You've  had  your  term 
of  unrest — you  said  so.  I  don't  care  about 
peace  and  repose!      I  don't " 

She  left  off  as  suddenly  as  she  had  begun, 
fearing  to  seem  too  ill-mannered. 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  he  said  gently,  "and 
I'm  a  goose  to  think  you  should.  No,  you 
will  have  to  go  out  into  the  world,  and  to 
learn  for  yourself  that  it  is  just  the  same 
there  as  everywhere:  butter  and  cheese  mak- 
ing, prize- winning  and  prize-losing,  and  very 
little  satisfaction  either  over  the  winning  or 
the  losing;  and  a  great  many  Auntie  Lloyds, 
probably  a  good  deal  more  trying  than  the 
Little  Stretton  Auntie  Lloyd.  Only,  if  I 
were  you,  I  should  not  talk  about  it  any  more 


PASTRY  AND  PERSONAL  MONARCHY  99 

I  should  just  go.  Saddle  the  white  horse 
and  go !  Get  your  experiences,  thick  and 
quick.     Then  you  will  be  glad  to  rest." 

"Are  you  making  fun  of  me.'"'  she  asked 
half  suspiciously,  for  he  had  previously  joked 
about  the  slow  pace  of  the  white  horse. 

"No,"  he  answered,  in  his  kind  way;  "why 
should  I  make  fun  of  you.?  We  cannot  all  be 
content  to  go  on  living  a  quiet  life  in  a  little 
village." 

At  that  moment  the  exciseman  passed  by 
them  on  horseback.  He  raised  his  hat  to 
Joan,  and  looked  with  some  curiosity  at  Hie- 
ronymus,  Joan  colored.  She  remembered 
that  she  had  not  behaved  kindly  to  him  yes- 
terday; and  after  all,  he  was  David,  David 
who  had  always  been  good  to  her,  ever  since 
she  could  remember. 

"Who  was  that.?"  asked  Hieronymus. 
"What  a  trim,  nice-looking  man!" 

"He  is  David  Ellis,  the  exciseman,"  Joan 
said,  half  reluctantly. 


ion  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"I  wonder  when  he  is  going  to  test  the 
beer  at  the  Green  Dragon,"  said  the  historian 
anxiously.  "I  wouldn't  miss  that  for  any- 
thing.     Will  you  ask  him.?" 

Joan  hesitated.  Then  she  hastened  on  a 
few  steps,  and  called  "David!" 

David  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  brought 
his  horse  to  a  standstill.  He  wondered  what 
Joan  would  have  to  say  to  him. 

"When  are  you  going  to  test  the  beer  at 
the  Green  Dragon.?"  she  asked. 

"Some  time  this  afternoon,"  he  answered. 
"Why  do  you  want  to  know.?" 

"The  gentleman  who  is  staying  at  the  inn 
wants  to  know,"  Joan  said. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me.?"  David 
asked  quietly. 

"No,"  said  Joan,  looking  up  at  him.  "There 
is  something  more:    about  the  pastry — " 

But  just  then  Hieronymus  had  joined  them. 

"If  you're  talking  about  pastry,"  he  said 
cheerily,"!  never  tasted  any  better  than  Miss 


PASTRY  AND  PERSONAL  MONARCHY         101 

Hammond's.     I  ate  a  dishful  this  morning!" 
The  exciseman  looksd  ^t  Joan,  an3  at  the 
historian. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  cracked  ins  whip,  "it 
tastes  good  to  those  who  can  get  it,  and  it 
tastes  bad  to  those  who  can't  get  it." 

And  with  that  he  galloped  away,  leaving 
Joan  confused,  and  Hieronymus  mystified. 
He  glanced  at  his  companion,  and  seemed  to 
expect  that  she  would  explain  the  situation; 
but  as  she  did  not  attempt  to  do  so  he  walked 
quietly  along  with  her  until  they  came  to  the 
short  cut  which  led  back  to  the  Green  Drag- 
on. There  he  parted  from  her,  making  an 
arrangement  that  she  should  come  and  write 
for  him  on  the  morrow.  But  as  he  strolled 
home  he  said  to  himself,  "I  am  much  afraid 
that  I  have  been  eating  some  one  else's  pastry ! 
Well,  it  was  very  good,  especially  the  jam- 
puffs!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  exciseman's  LIBRARY. 

David  Ellis  did  not  feel  genially  disposed 
toward  the  historian;  and  yet  when  he  stood 
in  the  kitchen  of  the  Green  Dragon,  testing 
the  new  brew,  and  saw  Hieronymus  eagerly 
watching  the  process,  he  could  not  but  be 
amused.  •  There  was  something  about  Hie- 
ronymus which  was  altogether  irresistible.  He 
had  a  power,  quite  unconscious  to  himself, 
of  drawing  people  over  to  his  side.  And  yet 
he  never  tried  to  win;  he  was  just  himself, 
nothing  more  and  nothing  less. 

"I  am  not  wishing  to  pry  into  the  secrets 
of  the  profession,"  he  said  to  David  Ellis; 
"but    I  do    like    to    see    how    everything    is 

done." 

102 


THE  EXCISEMAN'S  LIBRARY  103 

The  exciseman  good-naturedly  taught  him 
how  to  test  the  strength  of  the  beer,  and 
Hieronymus  was  as  pleased  as  though  he 
had  learned  some  great  secret  of  the  universe, 
or  unearthed  some  long-forgotten  fact  in  his- 
tory. 

"Are  you  sure  the  beer  comes  up  to  its 
usual  standard?"  he  asked  mischievously, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Benbow  at  the  same  time. 
"Are  you  sure  it  has  nothing  of  the  beef-tea 
element  about  it?  We  drink  beef-tea  by  the 
quart  in  this  establishment.  I'm  allowed 
nothing  else." 

David  laughed,  and  said  it  was  the  best 
beer  in  the  neighborhood;  and  with  that  he 
left  the  kitchen  and  went  into  the  ale-room 
to  exchange  a  few  words  with  Mr.  Howells, 
the  proprietor  of  the  rival  inn,  who  always 
came  to  the  Green  Dragon  to  have  his  few 
glasses  of  beer  in  peace,  free  from  the  stormy 
remonstrances  of  his  wife.  Every  one  in 
Little  Stretton  knew  his  secret,  and  respected 


104  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

it.   Hieronymus  returned  to  the  parlor,  where 
he  was  supposed  to  be  deep  in  study. 

After  a  few  minutes  some  one  knocked  at 
the  door,  and  David  Ellis  came  in. 

"Excuse  me  troubling  you,"  he  said,  rather 
nervously,  "but  there  is  a  little  matter  I  want- 
ed to  ask  you  about." 

"It's  about  that  confounded  pastry!" 
thought  Hieronymus,  as  he  drew  a  chair 
to  the  fireside  and  welcomed  the  exciseman 
to  it. 

David  sank  down  into  it,  twisted  his  whip, 
and  looked  now  at  Hieronymus  and  now  at 
the  books  which  lay  scattered  on  the  table. 
He  evidently  wished  to  say  something,  but 
he  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 

"I  know  what  you  want  to  say,"  said  Hie- 
ronymus. 

"No,  you  don't,"  answered  the  exciseman. 

"No  one  knows  except  myself." 

Hieronymus  retreated,  crushed,  but  rather 
relieved  too. 


THE  EXaSEMAWS  LIBRARY  105 

Then    David,  gaining  courage,  continued: 
"Books  are  in  your  line,  aren't  they?" 
"It   just    does    happen    to    be  my  work  to 
know    a  Httle  about  them,"  the  historian  an- 
swered.    "Are  you  interested  in   them  too?" 
"Well,"   said   David,    hesitating,    "I  can't 
say    I  read  them,  but  I  buy  them." 

"Most  people  do  that,"  said  Hieronymus; 
"it  takes  less  time  to  buy  than  to  read,  and 
we  are  pressed  for  time  in  this  century." 

"You  see,"  said  the  exciseman,  "I  don't 
buy  the  books  for  myself,  and  it's  rather  awk- 
ward knowing-  what  to  get.  Now  what  would 
you  get  for  a  person  who  was  really  fond  of 
reading:  something  of  a  scholar,  you  under- 
stand? That  would  help  me  for  my  next 
lot." 

"It  all  depends  on  the  taste  of  the  person," 
Hieronymus  said  kindly.  "Some  like  poetry, 
some  Hke  novels;  others  like  books  about  the 
moon,  and  others  like  books  about  the  north 
pole,  or  the  tropics." 


106  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

David  did  not  know  much  about  the  north 
pole  or  the  tropics,  but  he  had  certainly 
bought  several  volumes  of  poetry,  and  Hie- 
ronymus'  words  gave  him  courage. 

"I  bought  several  books  of  poetry,"  he 
said,  lifting  his  head  up  with  a  kmd  of  triumph 
which  was  unmistakable.  "Cowper,  Mrs. 
Hemans — " 

"Yes,"  said  Hieronymus  patiently. 

"And  the  other  day  I  bought  Milton,"  con- 
tinued the  exciseman. 

"Ah,"  said  the  historian,  with  a  faint  smile 
of  cheerfulness.  He  had  never  been  able  to 
care  for    Milton  (though  he  never  owned  to 

this). 

"And  now  I  thought  of  buying  this,"  said 
David,  taking  from  his  pocket  a  small  slip  of 
paper  and  showing  it  to  his  companion. 

Hieronymus  read:  "Selections  from  Robert 
Browning." 

"Come,  come!"  he  said  cheerily,  "this  is 
a  good  choice!" 


THE  EXCISEMAN'S  LIBRARY  107 

"It  is  not  my  choice,"  said  David  simply. 
"I  don't  know  one  fellow  from  another.  But 
the  man  at  the  shop  in  Ludlow  told  me  it 
was  a  book  to  have.  If  you  say  so  too,  of 
course  that  settles  the  matter." 

"Well,"  said  Hieronymus,  "and  what  about 
the  other  books.?" 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  David  suddenly,  "if 
you'd  come  to  my  lodgings  one  day,  you 
could  look  at  the  books  I've  got  and  advise 
me  about  others.  That  would  be  the  short- 
est and  pleasantest  way." 

"By  all  means,"  said  the  historian.  "Then 
you  have  not  yet  given  away  your  gifts.!*" 

"Not  yet,"  said  David  quietly.  "I  am  wait- 
ing awhile." 

And  then  he  relapsed  into  silence  and  tim- 
idity, and  went  on  twisting  his  whip. 

Hieronymus  was  interested,  but  he  had  too 
much  delicate  feeling  to  push  the  inquiry,  and 
not  having  a  mathematical  mind  he  was 
quite  unable  to  put    two    and  two    together 


lOS  ^T  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

without  help  from  another  source.  So  he 
just  went  on  smoking  his  pipe,  wondering  all 
the  time  what  possible  reason  his  companion 
could  have  for  collecting  a  library  beginning 
with  Mrs.  Hemans. 

After  a  remark  about  the  weather  and  the 
crops — Hieronymus  was  becoming  quite  agri- 
cultural— David  rose  in  an  undecided  kind  of 
manner,  expressed  his  thanks,  and  took  his 
leave,  but  there  was  evidently  something 
more  he  wanted  to  say,  and  yet  he  went  away 
without  saying  it. 

"I'm  sure  he  wants  to  speak  about  the 
pastry,"  thought  Hieronymus.  "Confound 
him!     Why  doesn't  he?" 

The  next  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
David  put  his  head  in. 

"There's  something  else  I  wanted  to  say," 
he  stammered  out.  "The  fact  is,  I  don't  tell 
anybody  about  the  books  I  buy.  It's  my 
own  affair,  and  I  like  to  keep  it  to  myself. 
But  I'm  sure  I  can  trust  you." 


THE  EXCISEMAN'S  LIBRARY  109 

"I  should  just  think  you  could,"  Hierony- 
mus  answered  cheerily. 

So  he  promised  secrecy,  and  then  followed 
the  exciseman  to  the  door,  and  watched  him 
mount  his  horse  and  ride  off.  Mr.  Benbow 
was  coming  in  at  the  time,  and  Hieronymus 
said  some  few   pleasant   words   about   David 

Ellis, 

"He's  the  nicest  man  in  these  parts,"  Mr. 
Benbow  said  warmly.  "We  all  Hke  him. 
Joan  Hammond  will  be  a  lucky  girl  if  she  gets 
him  for  a  husband." 

"Is  he  fond  of  her,  then?"  asked  Hierony- 
mus. 

"He  has  always  been  fond  of  her  since  I 
can  remember,"  Mr.  Benbow  answered. 

Then  Hieronymus,  having  received  this 
valuable  assistance,  proceeded  carefully  to 
put  two  and  two  together. 

"Now  I  know  for  whom  the  exciseman  in- 
tends his  library !"  he  said  to  himself  trium- 
phantly. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AUNTIE  LLOYD  PROTESTS. 

Auntie  Lloyd  was  a  material,  highly  pros- 
perous individual,  utterly  bereft  of  all  ideas 
except  one;  though,  to  be  sure,  the  one  idea 
which  she  did  possess  was  of  overwhelming 
bulk,  being,  indeed,  the  sense  of  her  own 
superiority  over  all  people  of  all  countries 
and  all  centuries  This  was  manifest  not 
only  in  the  way  she  spoke,  but  also  in  the 
way  she  folded  her  hands  together  on  the 
buckle  of  her  waist-belt,  as  though  she  were 
murmuring:  "Thank  heaven,  I  am  Auntie 
Lloyd,  and  no  one  else!"  All  her  relations, 
and  indeed  all  her  neighbors,  bowed  down  to 
her  authority;  it  was  recognized  by  every  one 

that  the    mistress  of    the    Tan-House    Farm 
110 


AUNTIE  LLOYD  PROTESTS  111 

was  a  personage  who  must  not  be  disobeyed 
in  the  smallest  particular.  There  had  been 
one  rebel  in  the  camp  for  many  years  now: 
Joan.  She  alone  had  dared  to  raise  the 
standard  of  revolt.  At  first  she  had  lifted  it 
only  an  inch  high;  but  strength  and  courage 
had  come  with  years,  and  now  the  standard 
floated  triumphantly  in  the  air.  And  to-day  it 
reached  its  full  height,  for  Auntie  Lloyd  had 
driven  over  to  the  Malt-House  Farm  to  pro- 
test with  her  niece  about  this  dictation,  and 
Joan,  though  she  did  not  use  the  exact  words, 
had  plainly  told  her  to  mind  her  own  busi- 
ness. 

Auntie  Lloyd  had  been  considerably 
"worked  up"ever  since  she  had  heard  the  news 
that  Joan  went  to  write  for  a  gentlemah  at 
the  Green  Dragon.  Then  she  heard  that 
Joan  not  only  wrote  for  him,  but  was  also 
seen  walking  about  with  him ;  for  it  was  not 
at  all  likely  that  an  episode  of  this  descrip- 
tion would  pass   without   comment   in  Little 


112  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

Stretton;  and  Auntie  Lloyd  was  not  the  only 
person  who  remarked  and  criticised.  A  bad 
attack  of  sciatica  had  kept  her  from  interfer- 
in  at  the  outset;  but  as  soon  as  she  was  even 
tolerably  well  she  made  a  descent  upon  the 
Malt-House  Farm,  having  armed  herself  with 
the  most  awe-inspiring  bonnet  and  mantle 
which  her  wardrobe  could  supply.  But  Joan 
was  proof  against  such  terrors.  She  listened 
to  all  Auntie  Lloyd  had  to  say,  and  merely 
remarked  that  she  did  not  consider  it  was 
any  one's  affair  but  her  own.  That  was  the 
most  overwhelming  statement  that  had  ever 
been  made  to  Auntie  Lloyd.  No  wonder 
that  she  felt  faint. 

"It  is  distinctly  a  family  affair,"  she  said 
angrily.  "If  you're  not  careful,  you'll  lose 
the  chance  of  David  Ellis.  You  can't  ex- 
pect him  to  be  dangling  about  your  heels  all 
his  life.  He  will  soon  be  tired  of  waiting  for 
your  pleasure.  Do  you  suppose  that  he  too 
does  not  know  you  are  amusing  yourself  with 
this  newcomer.'*" 


AUNTIE  LLOYD  PROTESTS  113 

Joan  was  pouring  out  tea  at  the  time,  and 
her  hand  trembled  as  she  filled  the  cup. 

"I  won't  have  David  Ellis  thrust  down  my 
throat  by  you  or  by  any  one,"  she  said  deter- 
minedly. 

And  with  that  she  looked  at  her  watch,  and 
calmly  said  that  it.  was  time  for  her  to  be  off 
to  the  Green  Dragon,  Mr.  Howard  having 
asked  her  to  go  in  the  afternoon  instead  of  the 
morning.  But  though  she  left  Auntie  Lloyd 
quelled  and  paralyzed,  and  was  conscious 
that  she  had  herself  won  the  battle  once  and 
for  all,  she  was  very  much  irritated  and  dis- 
tressed too.  Hieronymus  noticed  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  with  her. 

"What  is  the  matter.?"  he  asked  kindly. 
"Has  Auntie  Lloyd  been  paying  a  visit  to  the 
Malt-House  Farm,  and  exasperated  you  be- 
yond all  powers  of  endurance?  Or  was  the 
butter-making  a  failure.-*  Or  is  it  the  same 
old  story — general  detestation  of  every  one 
and    everything  in    Little    Stretton,  together 


114  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

with  an  inward  determination  to  massacre  the 
whole    village   at   the  earliest    opportunity?" 

Joan  smiled,  and  looked  up  at  the  kind  face 
which  always  had  such  a  restful  influence  on 
her. 

"I  suppose  that  is  the  root  of  the  whole 
matter,"  she  said. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  said  gently,  as  he 
turned  to  his  papers,  "but  I  think  you  are 
not  quite  wise  to  let  your  discontent  grow  be- 
yond your  control.  Most  people,  you  know, 
when  their  lives  are  paralyzed,  are  found  to 
have  but  sorry  material  out  of  which  to  fash- 
ion for  themselves  satisfaction  and  con- 
tentment." 

Her  face  flushed  as  he  spoke,  and  a  great 
peace  fell  over  her.  When  she  was  with  him 
all  was  well  with  her;  the  irritations  at  home, 
the  annoyances  either  within  or  without, 
either  real  or  imaginary,  and  indeed  all  wor- 
ries passed  for  the  time  out  of  her  memory. 
David  Ellis  was  forgotten.  Auntie  Lloyd  was 


AUNTIE  LLOYD  PROTESTS  115 

forgotten;  the  narrow,  dull,  everyday  exist- 
ence broadened  out  into  many  interesting  pos- 
sibilities. Life  had  something  bright  to  offer 
to  Joan.  She  bent  happily  over  the  pages, 
thoroughly  enjoying  her  congenial  task;  and 
now  and  again  during  the  long  pauses  of 
silence  when  Hieronymus  was  thinking  out 
his  subject,  she  glanced  at  his  kind  face  and 
his  silvered  head. 

And  restless  little  Joan  was  restful. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE     DISTANCE    GROWS. 


So  the  days  slipped  away,  and  Joan  came 
regularly  to  the  Green  Dragon  to  write  to 
the  historian's  dictation.  These  rnornmgs 
were  red-letter  days  in  her  life;  she  had 
never  before  had  anything  which  she  could 
have  called  companionship,  and  now  this  best 
of  all  pleasures  was  suddenly  granted  to  her. 
She  knew  well  that  it  could  not  last;  that 
very  soon  the  historian  would  go  back  into 
his  own  world,  and  that  she  would  be  left 
lonely,  lonelier  than  ever.  But  meanwhile  she 
was  happy.  She  always  felt  after  having 
been  with  him  as  though  some  sort  of  peace 
had  stolen  over  her.  It  did  not  hold  her 
116 


THE  DISTANCE  GROIVS  117 

long,  this  sense  of  peace.    It  v;as  merely  that 
quieting   influence  which  a  mellowed    nature 
exercises  at  rare  moments  over  an  unmellowed 
nature,  being  indeed  a  snatch  of  that  wonder 
ful  restfulness  v/hich  has  something  divine  in 
its  essence.   She  did    not  analyze  her  feelings 
for  him,  she  dared  not.      She  just  drifted  on, 
dreaming.     And  she  was  grateful  to  him  too, 
for  she  had  unburdened   her  heavy  heart    to 
him,  and  he    had    not    laughed   at  her   aspi- 
rations   and    ambitions.      He    had    certainly 
made  a  little  fun  over  her,  but  not  in  the  way 
that   conveyed  contempt;    on   the   contrary, 
his  manner  of  teasing  gave  the  impression  of 
the  kindliest  sympathy.    He  had  spoken  sen- 
sible words  of  advice  to  her,  too;   not  in  any 
formal  set  lecture— that  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  him— but  in   detached    sentences 
given  out  at  different  times,  with  words  sim- 
ple in  themselves,  but  able  to  suggest   many 
good  and  noble  thoughts.      At  least  that  was 
what  Joan  gathered,  that  was  her  judgment 


118  AT  THE  CREEN  DRAGOhl 

of  him,  that   was  the  effect   he  produced  on 
her. 

Then  he  was   not    miserly  of  his  learning. 
He  was  not  one  of  those   scholars    who  keep 
their  wisdom  for  their    narrow  and    appreci- 
ative little  set;   he  gave  of  his   best   to  every 
one  with   royal  generosity,  and   he   gave   of 
his  best  to  her.      He  saw  that  she  was  really 
interested  in  history,  and  that  it  pleased  her 
to  hear  him  talk  about  it.     Out  then  came  his 
stores  of  knowledge,  all   for   her  special  ser- 
vice!  But  that  was  only  half  of  the  process; 
he  taught  her  by  finding  out    from   her  what 
she  knew,  and  then  returning  her  knowledge 
to  her  two-fold  enriched.      She  was  eager  to 
learn,  and  he  was  interested  in  her  eagerness. 
It  was  his  nature  to   be   kind   and  chivalrous 
to  every  one,  and  he  was  therefore  kind  and 
chivalrous  to  his  little  secretary.     He  saw  her 
constantly  in  "school  hours,"  as  he  called  the 
time    spent   in   dictating,  and   out  of    school 
hours  too.      He  took  such   an  interest  in    all 


THE  DISTANCE  GROIVS  119 

matters  connected  with  the  village  that  he 
was  to  be  found  everywhere,  now  gravely 
contemplating  the  cows  and  comparing  them 
with  Mr.  Benbow's  herd,  now  strolling  through 
the  market-place,  and  now  passing  stern  criti- 
cisms on  the  butter  and  poultry,  of  which  he 
knew  nothing.  Once  he  even  tried  to  sell 
Joan    Hammond's    butter  to  Mrs.    Benbow. 

"I  assure  you,  ma'am,"  he  said  to  the  land- 
lady of  the  Green  Dragon,  "the  very  best 
cooking  butter  in  the  kingdom !  Taste  and 
see." 

"But  it   zsn^  cooking  butter!"  interposed 

Joan  hastily. 

But  she  laughed  all  the  same,  and  Hie- 
ronymus,  much  humbled  by  his  mistake,  made 
no  more  attempts  to  sell  butter. 

He  seemed  thoroughly  contented  with  his 
life  at  Little  Stretton,  and  in  no  hurry  to  join 
his  friends  in  Wales.  He  was  so  genial  that 
every  one  liked  him  and  spoke  kindly  of  him. 
If  he  was    driving  in    the  pony-carriage  and 


1^0  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

saw  any  children  trudging  home  after  school, 
he  would  find  room  for  four  or  five   of    them 
and  take  them  back  to  the  village  in  triumph. 
If  he  met  an  old  woman   carrying  a  bundle 
of  wood,  he  immediately  transferred  the  load 
from  herself  to  himself,  and  walked  along  by 
her  side,  chatting  merrily  the  while.      As  for 
the  tramps  who  passed  on  the  highroad  from 
Ludlow  to  Church  Stretton,  they  found  in  him 
a  sympathetic  friend.      His   hand  was  always 
in  his  pocket  for  them.      He  listened  to  their 
tales    of    woe,    and   stroked   the    "property" 
baby  in  the  perambulator,  and  absolutely  re- 
fused to  be  brought  to  order  by  Mrs.  Benbow, 
who    declared    that    she    knew    more    about 
tramps  than  he  did,  and  that    the  best  thing 
to  do    with    them  was  to    send    them    about 
their  business  as  soon  as  possible. 

"You  will  ruin  the  reputation  of  the  Green 
Dragon,"  she  said,  "if  you  go  on  entertaining 
tramps  outside.  Take  your  friends  over  to 
the  other  inn!" 


THE  DISTANCE  GROIVS  131 

She  thought  that  this  would  be  a  strong 
argument,  as  Hieronymus  was  particularly 
proud  of  the  Green  Dragon,  having  discovered 
that  it  was  patronized  by  the  aristocrats  of 
the  village,  and  considered  infinitely  superior 
to  its  rival,  the  Crown  Inn  opposite. 

But  the  historian,  so  yielding  in  otner  re- 
spects, continued  his  intimacies  with  the 
tramps,  sometimes  even  leaving  his  work  if  he 
chanced  to  see  an  interesting-looking  wanderer 
slouching  past  the  Green  Dragon.  Joan  had 
become  accustomed  to  these  interruptions. 
She  just  sat  waiting  patiently  until  Hierony- 
mus came  back,  and  plunged  once  more  into 
the  History  of  the  Dissolution  of  the  Monas- 
teries, or  the  Attitude  of  the  Foreign  Powers 
to  each  other  during  the  latter  years  of  Henry 

vni. 

"I'm  a  troublesome  fellow,"  he  would  say 
to  her  sometimes,  "and  you  are  very  patient 
with  me.  In  fact,  you're  a  regular  little  brick 
of  a  secretary." 


123  .4T  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

Then  she  would  flush  with  pleasure  to  hear 
his  words  of  praise.  But  he  never  noticed 
that,  and  never  thought  he  was  leading  her 
further  and  further  away  from  her  surround- 
ings and  ties,  and  putting  great  distances  be- 
tween herself  and  the  exciseman. 

So  little  did  he  guess  it  that  one  day  he 
even  ventured  to  joke  with  her.  He  had 
been  talking  to  her  about  John  Richard 
Green,  the  historian,  and  he  asked  her 
whether  she  had  read  "A  Short  History  of 
the  English  People."  She  told  him  she  had 
never  read  it. 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  have  that  book,"  he 
said;  and  he  immediately  thought  that  he 
would  buy  it  for  her.  Then  he  remembered 
the  exciseman's  library,  and  judged  that  it 
would  be  better  to  let  him  buy  it  for  her. 

"I  hear  you  have  a  very  devoted  admirer 
in  the    exciseman,"  Hieronymns    said    slyly. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Joan  said 
sharply. 


THE  DISTy4NCE  GROIVS  123 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  "I  was  told."  But  he 
saw  that  his  volcanic  little  companion  was 
not  too  pleased;  and  so  he  began  talking 
about  John  Richard  Green.  He  told  her 
about  the  man  himself,  his  work,  his  suffering, 
his  personality.  He  told  her  how  the  young 
men  at  Oxford  were  advised  to  travel  on  the 
Continent  to  expand  their  minds,  and  if  they 
could  not  afford  this  advantage  after  their 
university  career,  then  they  were  to  read 
Jo/m  Richard  Green.  He  told  her,  too,  of 
his  grave  at  Mentone,  with  the  simple  words, 
"He  died  learning." 

Thus  he  would  talk  to  her,  taking  her  al- 
ways into  a  new  world  of  interest.  Then 
she  was  in  an  enchanted  kingdom,  and  he 
was  the  magician. 

It  was  a  world  in  which  agriculture  and 
dairy-farming  and  all  the  other  wearinesses 
of  her  everyday  life  had  no  part.  Some  peo- 
ple might  think  it  was  but  a  poor  enchanted 
realm  which  he  conjured  up  for  her  pleasure. 


124  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

But  enchantment,  like  every  other  emotion, 
is  but  relative  after  all.  Some  little  fragment, 
of  intellectuality  had  been  Joan's  idea  of  en- 
chantment. And  now  it  had  come  to  her  in  a 
way  altogether  unexpected,  and  in  a  measure 
beyond  all  her  calculations.  It  had  come  to 
her,  bringing  with  it  something  else. 

She  seemed  in  a  dream  during  all  that  time  ; 
yes,  she  was  slipping  further  away  from  her 
own  people,  and  further  away  from  the  ex- 
ciseman. She  had  never  been  very  near  to 
him,  but  lately  the  distance  had  become 
doubled.  When  she  chanced  to  meet  him 
her  manner  was  more  than  ordinarily  cold. 
If  he  had  chosen  to  plead  for  himself,  he 
might  well  have  asked  what  he  had  done  to 
her  that  he  should  deserve  to  be  treated  with 
such  bare  unfriendliness. 

One  day  he  met  her.  She  was  riding  the 
great  white  horse,  and  David  rode  along  be- 
side her.  She  chatted  with  him  now  and 
again,  but  there  were  long  pauses  of  silence 
between  them. 


THE  DISTAhlCE  GROIVS  135 

"Father  has  made  up  his  mind  to  sell  old 
Nance,"  she  said  suddenly,  as  she  stroked 
the  old  mare's  head.  "This  is  my  last  ride  on 
her," 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  David  kindly.  "She's  an 
old  friend,  isn't  she?" 

"I  suppose  it  is  ridiculous  to  care  so  much,'* 
Joan  said;  "but  you  know  we've  had  her 
such  a  time.  And  I  used  to  hang  round  her 
neck,  and  she  would  lift  me  up  and  swing 
me." 

"I  remember,"  said  David  eagerly.  "I've 
often  watched  you.  I  was  always  afraid  you 
would  have  a  bad  f^ll." 

"You  ran  up  and  caught  me  once,"  Joan 
said,  "And  I  was  so  angry;  for  it  wasn't 
likely  that  old  Nance  would  have  let  me  fall." 

"But  how  could  I  be  sure  that  the  little 
arms  were  strong  enough  to  cling  firmly  to 
old  Nance's  neck  ?"  David  said.  "So  I  couldn't 
help  being  anxious." 

"Do  you  remember  when  I  was  lost  in  that 


l-3()  ^T  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

mist,"  Joan  said,  "and  you  came  and  found 
me,  and  carried  me  home?  I  was  so  angry 
that  you  would  not  let  me  walk." 

"You  have  often  been  angry  with  me," 
David  said  quietly. 

Joan  made  no  answer.  She  just  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

There  they  were,  these  two,  riding  side  by 
side,  and  yet  they  were  miles  apart  from 
each  other.    Da,vid  knew  it,  and  grieved. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DAVID  LAMENTS. 

David  knew  it,  and  grieved.  He  knew  that 
Joan's  indifference  was  growing  apace,  and 
that  it  had  taken  to  itself  alarming  propor- 
tions ever  since  the  historian  had  been  at  the 
Green  Dragon.  He  had  constantly  met  Joan 
and  Hieronymus  together,  and  heard  of  them 
being  together,  and  of  course  he  knew  that 
Joan  wrote  to  the  historian's  dictation.  He 
never  spoke  on  the  subject  to  any  one.  Once 
or  twice  Auntie  Lloyd  tried  to  begin,  but  he 
looked  straight  before  him  and  appeared  not 
to  understand.  Once  or  twice  some  other  of 
the  folk  made  mention  of  the  good-fellowship 
which  existed  between  Joan  and  the  his- 
torian. 

127 


123  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"Well,  it's  natural  enough,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Joan  was  always  fond  of  books,  and  one 
feels  glad  she  can  talk  about  them  with  some 
one  who  is  real  clever."  ^ 

But  was  he  glad?  Poor  David!  Time  after 
time  he  looked  at  his  little  collection  of  books, 
handling  the  volumes  just  as  tenderly  as  one 
handles  one's  memories,  or  one's  hopes,  or 
one's  old  affections.  He  had  not  added  to 
the  library  since  he  had  spoken  to  Hierony- 
mus  and  asked  his  advice  on  the  choice  of 
suitable  subjects.  He  had  no  heart  to  go  on 
with  a  hobby  which  seemed  to  have  no  com- 
fort in  it. 

To-night  he  sat  in  his  little  sitting-room 
smoking  his  pipe.  He  looked  at  his  books 
as  usual,  and  then  locked  them  up  in  his  oak 
chest.  He  sat  thinking  of  Joan  and  Hierony- 
mus.  There  was  no  bitterness  in  David's 
heart;  there  was  only  sorrow.  He  shared 
with  others  a  strong  admiration  for  Hierony- 
mus,an  admiration  which  the  historian  never 


DAVID  LAMENTS  129 

failed  to  win,  though  it  was  often  quite  un- 
consciously received.  So  there  was  only  sor- 
row in  David's  heart,  and  no  bitterness. 
^  The  clock  was  striking  seven  of  the  evening 
wh^^  some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
Hieronymus  came  into  the  room.  He  was 
in  a  particularly  genial  mood,  and  puffed  his 
pipe  in  great  contentment.  He  settled  down 
by  the  fireside  as  though  he  had  been    there 

all  his  life,  and  chatted  away  so  cheerily  that 

David    forgot    his    own     melancholy    in    his 

pleasure  at  having  such  a  bright   companion. 

A  bottle   of  whisky  was   produced,  and    the 

coziness  was  complete. 

"Now    for   the    books!"  said  Hieronymus. 

"I  am  quite    anxious  to   see   your  collection. 

And  look  here;    I  have  made  a  list  of  suitable 

books    which    any   one  would  like   to  have. 

Now     show     me     what    you     have  already 

bought." 

David's  misery  returned  all  in  a  rush,  and 
he  hesitated. 


130  ^T  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"I  don't  think  I  care  about  the  books  now," 
he  said. 

"What  nonsense !"  said  Hieronymus.  "You 
are  not  shy  about  showing  them  to  me?  I 
am  sure  you  have  bought  some  capital  ones." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  that,"  David  said  quietly, 
as  he  unlocked  the  oak  chest  and  took  out 
the  precious  volumes  and  laid  them  on  the 
table.  In  spite  of  himself,  however,  some  of 
the  old  eagerness  came  over  him,  and  he 
stood  by,  waiting  anxiously  for  the  historian's 
approval.  Hieronymus  groaned  over  Mrs. 
Hemans'  poetry,  and  Locke's  "Human  Un- 
derstanding," and  Defoe's  "History  of  the 
Plague,"  and  Cowper,  and  Hannah  More. 
He  groaned  inwardly,  but  outwardly  he  gave 
grunts  of  encouragement.  He  patted  David 
on  the  shoulder  when  he  found  "Selections 
from  Browning,"  and  he  almost  caressed  him 
when  he  proudly  produced  "Silas  Marner," 
Yes,  David  was  proud  of  his  treasures; 
each  one  of  them  represented  to  him  a  whole 
world  of  love  and  hope  and  consolation. 


Dy4yiD  LAMENTS  131 

Hieronymus  knew  for  whom  the  books  were 
intended,  and  he  was  touched  by  the  excise- 
man's quiet  devotion  and  pride.  He  would 
not  have  hurt  David's  feehngs  on  any  ac- 
count; he  would  have  praised  the  books,  how- 
ever unsuitable  they  might  have  seemed  to 
him. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "you've  done 
capitally  by  yourself.  You've  chosen  some 
excellent  books.  Still,  this  list  may  help 
you  to  go  on,  and  I  should  advise  you  to  be- 
gin with  'Green's  History  of  the  English 
People.'" 

David  put  the  volumes  back  into  the  oak 
chest. 

"I  don't  think  I  care  about  buying  any 
more,"  he  said  sadly.      "It's  no  use." 

"Why?"  asked  Hieronymus. 

David  looked  at  the  historian's  frank  face, 
and  felt  the  same  confidence  in  him  which 
all  felt.  He  looked,  and  knew  that  this 
man  was  loyal  and  good. 


132  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

•"Well,  it's  just  this,"  David  said,  quite 
simply.  "I've  loved  her  ever  since  she  was 
a  baby-child.  She  was  my  own  little  sweet- 
heart then.  I  took  care  of  her  when  she  was 
a  wee  thing,  and  I  wanted  to  look  after  her 
when  she  was  a  grown  woman.  It  has  just 
been    the  hope  of  my  life    to    make  Joan  my 

wife." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  looked  straight 

into  the  fire. 

"I  know  she  is    different   from  others,  and 
cleverer  than  any  of  us  here,  and  all  that.  ,  I 
know  she  is  always  longing  to  get  away  from 
Little  Stretton.      But  I  thought  that  perhaps 
we  might  be  happy  together,  and    that    then 
she  would   not  want  to  go.      But    I've   never 
been     quite    sure.       I've    just    watched    and 
waited.      I've  loved  her    all   my  life.      When 
she  was  a  wee  baby  I  carried  her  about,  and 
knew  how  to   stop   her  crying.      She  has  al- 
ways been  kinder  to  me  than  to  any  one  else. 
It  was  perhaps    that  which  helped  me  to  be 


DAyiD  LAMENTS  133 

patient.'  At  least,  I  knew  she  did  not  care 
for  any  one  else.  It  was  just  that  she  didn't 
seem  to  turn  to  any  one." 

He  had  moved  away  from  Hieronymus, 
and  stood  knocking  out  the  ashes  from  hia 
pipe. 

Hieronymus  was  silent. 
"At  least,  I  knew  she  did  not  care  for  any- 
one else,"  continued  David,  "until  you  came. 
Now  she  cares  for  you." 

Hieronymus  looked  up  quickly. 
"Surely,    surely,  you    must  be  mistaken," 
he  said.      David  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  am  not  mistaken. 
And  I'm  not  the  only  one  who  has  noticed 
it.  Since  you've  been  here,  my  little  Joan 
has  gone  further  and  further  away  from  me." 
"I  am  sorry,"  said  Hieronymus.  He  had 
taken  his  tobacco-pouch  from  his  pocket,  and 
was  slowly  filling  his  pipe. 

"I  have  never  meant  to  work    harm  to  her 
or  you,  or  any  one,"  the  historian  said  sadly. 


134  ^T  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

"If  I  had  thought  I  was  going  to  bring  trouble 
to  any  one    here,  I  should    not    have    stayed 
on.       But    I've    been    very     happy     among 
you     all,    and     you've     all     been     good    to 
me;   and  as  the  days  went  on  I  found   myself 
becoming  attached  to  this  little  village       The 
life  was  so   simple   and   refreshing,  and  I  was 
glad  to  have  the  rest  and  the  change.      Your 
little  Joan    and  I  have   been   much   together, 
it  is  true.      She  has  written  to  my  dictation, 
and  I  found  her   so   apt   that,  long   after   my 
hand  became  well  again,  I  preferred  to  dictate 
rather  than  to  write.   Then  we've  walked  to- 
gether, and  we've  talked  seriously  and  mer- 
rily, and  sadly  too.    We've    just    been    com- 
rades;  nothing  more.      She  seemed  to   me  a 
little  discontented,  and  I  tried  to  interest  her 
in  things  I  happen  to  know,  and  so    take  her 
out  of  herself.      If  I  had  had  any  idea  that  I 
was  doing  more  than  that,  I  should  have  left 
at  once.      I  hope  you  don't  doubt  me." 

"I  believe  every  word  you  say,"  David  said 
warmly. 


DAl^lD  LAMENTS  135 

"I  am  grateful  for  that,"  Hieronymus  said, 
and  the  two  men  grasped  hands. 

"If  there  is  anything  I  could  do  to  repair 
my  thoughtlessness,"  he  said,  "I  will  gladly 
do  it.  But  it  is  difficult  to  know  what  to  do 
and  what  to  say.  For  perhaps,  after  all,  you 
may  be  mistaken." 

The  exciseman  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  mistaken.  It 
has  been  getting  worse  ever  since  you  came. 
There  is  nothing  to  say  about  it;  it  can't  be 
helped.  It's  just  that  sort  of  thing  which 
sometimes  happens:  no  one  to  blame,  but 
the  mischief  is  done  all  the  same.  I  don't 
know  why  I've  told  you  about  it.  Perhaps  I 
meant  to,  perhaps  I  didn't.  It  seemed  to 
come  naturally  enough  when  we  were  talking 
of  the  books." 

He  was  looking  mournfully  at  the  list  which 
Hieronymus  had  drawn  out  for  him. 

"I  don't  see  that  it's  any  use  to  me,"  he  said. 

He  was  going  to  screw  it  up  and  throw  it 


136  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

into  the  fire,  but  the  historian  prevented  him. 
"Keep  it,"  he  said  kindly.      "You   may  yet 
want  it.      If  I  were    you,  I  should  go  on  pa- 
tiently adding  book  after  book,  and  with  each 
book  you  buy,  buy  a  little    hope   too.     Who 
knows.?    Some  day  your  little  Joan  may  want 
you.      But  she  will  have   to  go  out  into  the 
world  first    and    fight    her    battles.     She    is 
one    of    those    who    musi    go    out    into    the 
world  and   buy  her    experiences  for    herself. 
Those  who  hinder  her  are  only  hurting  her. 
Don't  try  to  hinder  her.      Let  her  go.   Some 
day  when  she  is  tired  she  will  be  glad  to  lean 
on  some  one  whom  she   can    trust.      But  she 
must  be    tired    first,  and    thus    find    out   her 
necessity.    And    it    is  when  we  find  out  our 
necessity  that  our  heart    cries  aloud.      Then 
it  is  that  those  who  love  us  will    not  fail  us. 
They  will  be  to  us  like  the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  weary  land." 

David  made  no  answer,  but  he  smoothed 
out  the  crumpled  piece  of  paper  and  put  it 
carefully  into  his  pocket. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HIERONYMUS  SPEAKS. 

Hieronymus  was  unhappy;   the  exciseman 
might  or  might  not  be  mistaken,  but  the  fact 
remained  that  some  mischief  had  been  done^ 
inasmuch     as     David     Ellis'      feelings    were 
wounded.      Hieronymus    felt    that    the    best 
thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  go,  though  he  quite 
determined   to  wait    until    he  saw    the    hill- 
ponies    gathered    together.     There     was    no 
reason  why  he  should  hasten  away  as  though 
he  were  ashamed  of  himself.      He  knew  that 
not  one  word  had  been  spoken  to  Joan  which 
he  now  wished  to  recall.      His   position  was 
a  delicate   one.      He   thought    seriously  over 
the  matter,  and  wondered  how  he  might   de- 
vise a  means  of  telling  her  a  little  about  his 

137 


138  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

own  life,  and  thus  shosving  her,  without 
seeming  to  show  her,  that  his  whole  heart  was 
filled  with  the  memories  of  the  past.  He 
could  not  say  to  Joan:  "My  Httle  Joan,  my 
little  secretary,  they  tell  me  that  I  have  been 
making  havoc  with  your  heart.  Now  listen 
to  me,  child.  If  it  is  not  true,  then  I  am 
glad.  And  if  it  is  true, I  am  sad;  because  I 
have  been  wounding  you  against  my  knowl- 
edge, and  putting  you  through  suffering  which 
I  might  so  easily  have  spared  you.  You  will 
recover  from  the  suffering;  but  alas!  httle 
Joan,  that  I  should  have  been  the  one  to 
wound  you." 

He  could  not  say  that  to  her,  though  he 
would  have  wished  to  speak  some  such  words. 

But  the  next  morning  after  his  conver- 
sation with  David  Ellis  he  sat  in  the  parlor 
of  the  Green  Dragon  fondling  the  ever  faith- 
ful Gamboge. 

Joan  Hammond  looked  up  once  or  twice 
from  her  paper,  wondering  when  the  historian 


HIERONYMUS  SPEAKS  139 

would  begin  work.  He  seemed  to  be  taking 
a  longtime  this  morning  to  rouse  himself  to 
activity, 

"I  shall  take  Gamboge  with  me  when  I  go," 
he  said  at  last.  "I've  bought  her  for  half  a 
crown.  That  is  a  paltry  sum  to  give  for  such 
a  precious  creature." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  going,  then  ?"  asked 
Joan  fearfully. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  cheerily.  "I  must  just 
wait  to  see  those  rascals,  the  hill-ponies,  and 
then  I  must  go  back  to  the  barbarous  big 
world,  into  which  you  are  so  anxious  to  pene- 
trate." 

"Father  has  determined  to  sell  Nance,"  she 
said  sadly;  "so  I  can't  saddle  the  white  horse 
and  be  off." 

"And  you  are  sorry  to  lose  your  old  friend .?" 
he  said  kindly. 

"One  has  to  give  up  everything,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Not  everything,"  Hieronymus  said.   "Not 


140  /iT   THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

the    nasty  things, for  instance — only  the  nice 
things!" 

Joan  laughed  and  dipped  her  pen  into  the 
ink. 

"The  truth  of  it  is,  I'm  not  in  the  least  in- 
clined to  work  this  morning,"  said  Hierony- 
mus. 

Joan  waited,  the  pen  in  her  hand.  He 
had  said  that  so  many  times  before,  and  yet 
he  had  always  ended  by  doing  some  work 
after  all. 

"I  believe  that  my  stern  task-mistress,  my 
dear  love  who  died  so  many  years  ago — I 
believe  that  even  she  would  give  me  a  holi- 
day to-day,"  Hieronymus  said.  "And  she 
always  claimed  so  much  work  of  me;  she  was 
never  satisfied.  I  think  she  considered  me  a 
lazy  fellow,  who  needed  spurring  on.  She 
had  great  ambitions  for  me;  she  believed 
everything  of  me,  and  wished  me  to  work 
out  her  ambitions,  not  for  the  sake  of  the 
fame  and  the  name,  but  for  the  sake  of  the 


HIERONYMUS  SPEAKS  141 

good  it  does  us  all  to  grapple  with  ourselves," 
He  had  drawn  from  his  pocket  a  small 
miniature  of  a  sweet-looking  woman.  It  was 
a  spiritual  face,  with  tender  eyes;  a  face  to 
linger  in  one's  memory, 

"When  she  first  died,"  Hieronymus  con- 
tinued, as  though  to  himself,  "I  could  not 
have  written  a  line  without  this  dear  face  be- 
fore me.  It  served  to  remind  me  that  al- 
though I  was  unhappy  and  lonely,  I  must 
work  if  only  to  please  her.  That  is  what  I 
had  done  when  she  was  alive,  and  it  seemed 
disloyal  not  to  do  so  when  she  was  dead. 
And  it  was  the  only  comfort  I  had;  but  a 
strong  comfort,  filling  full  the  heart.  It  is 
ten  years  now  since  she  died;  but  I  scarcely 
need  the  miniature,  the  dear  face  is  always 
before  me.  Ten  years  ago,  and  I  am  still 
alive,  and  sometimes,  often  indeed,  very 
happy;  she  was  always  glad  when  I  laughed 
cheerily,  or  I  made  some  fun  out  of  nothing. 
'What  a  stupid  boy  you  are!'  she  would  say. 


142  /iT  THE  GREEN  DR/IGON 

But  she  laughed  all  the  same.  We  were 
very  happy  together,  she  and  I;  we  had 
loved  each  other  a  long  time, in  spite  of  many 
difficulties  and  troubles.  But  the  troubles 
had  cleared,  and  we  were  just  going  to  make 
our  little  home  together  when  she  died." 

There  was  no    tremor    in    his    voice    as  he 
spoke. 

"We  enjoyed  everything,"  he  went  on; 
"every  bit  of  fun,  every  bit  of  beauty — the 
mere  fact  of  living  and  loving,  the  mere  fact 
of  the  world  bemg  beautiful,  the  mere  fact 
of  there  being  so  much  to  do  and  to  be  and 
to  strive  after.  I  was  not  very  ambitious  for 
myself.  At  one  time  I  //^c/ cared  greatly; 
then  the  desire  had  left  me.  But  when  she 
first  came  into  my  life,  she  roused  me  from 
my  lethargy;  she  loved  me,  and  did  not  wish 
me  to  pause  one  moment  in  my  life's  work. 
The  old  ambitions  had  left  me,  but  for  her 
sake  I  revived  them;  she  was  my  dear  good 
angel,  but  always,  as  I  told  her,  a  stern  task- 


HIERONYMUS  SPEAKS  143 

giver.  Then  when  she  was  gone,  and  I  had 
not  her  dear  presence  to  help  me,  I  just  felt 
I  could  not  go  on  writing  any  more.  Then 
I  remembered  how  ambitious  she  was  for  me, 
and  so  I  did  not  wait  one  moment.  I  took  up 
my  work  at  once,  and  have  tried  to  earn  a 
name  and  a  fame  for  her  sake." 

He  paused  and   stirred   the    fire    uneasily. 

"It  was  very  difficult  at  first,"  he  contin- 
ued; "everything  was  difficult.  And  even 
now,  after  ten  years,  it  is  not  always  easy. 
And  I  cared  so  little.  That  was  the  hardest 
part  of  all:  to  learn  to  care  again.  But  the 
years  pass,  and  we  live  through  a  tempest  of 
grief,  and  come  out  into  a  great  calm.  In 
the  tempest  we  fancied  we  were  alone;  in 
the  calm  we  know  that  we  have  not  been 
alone;  that  the  dear  face  has  been  looking 
at  us  lovingly,  and  the  dear  voice  speaking 
to  us  through  the  worst  hours  of  the  storm, 
and  the  dear  soul  knitting  itself  closer  and 
closer  to  our  soul." 

Joan  bent  over  the  paper. 


144  /IT  THE  GREEN  DR/iGON 

"So  the  days  have  passed  into  weeks  and 
months  and  years,"  he  said,  "and  here  am  I, 
still  looking  for  my  dear  love's  blessing  and 
approval;  still  looking  to  her  for  guidance, 
to  her  and  no  one  else.-  Others  may  be  able 
to  give  their  heart  twice  over,  but  I  am  not 
one  of  those.  People  talk  of  death  effacing 
love!  as  though  death  and  love  could  have 
any  dealings  the  one  with  the  other.  They 
always  were  strangers;  they  always  will  be 
strangers.  So  year  after  year  I  mourn  for 
her,  in  my  own  way,  happily,  sorrowfully, 
and  always  tenderly;  sometimes  with  laugh- 
ter, sometimes  with  tears.  When  I  see  all 
the  beautiful  green  things  of  the  world,  and 
sing  from  very  delight,  I  know  she  would  be 
glad.  When  I  make  a  good  joke  or  turn  a 
clever  sentence,  I  know  she  would  smile  her 
praise.  When  I  do  my  work  well,  I  know 
she  would  be  satisfied.  And  though  I  may 
fail  in  all  1  undertake,  still  there  is  the  going 
on    trying.      Thus  I    am    always  a  mourner, 


HIERONYMUS  SPEAKS  145 

offering  to  her  just  that  kind  of  remembrance 
which  her  dear  beautiful  soul  would  cherish 
most." 

He  was  handling  the  little  miniature. 

"May  I  see  the  face?"  Joan  asked  very 
gently. 

He  put  the  miniature  in  her  hands.  She 
looked  at  it,  and  then  returned  it  to  him,  al- 
most reverently. 

"And  now,  little  secretary,"  he  said,  in  his 
old  cheery  way,  "I  do  believe  I  could  do 
some  work  if  I  tried.  It's  only  a  question 
of  will-power.  Come,  dip  your  pen  in  the 
ink,  and  write  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

He  dictated  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  then 
Joan  slipped  off  quickly  home. 

Up  in  her  little  bedroom  it  was  all  in  vain 
that  she  chased  the  tears  from  her  face. 
They  came  again,  and  they  came  again. 

"He  has  seen  that  I  love  him,"  she  sobbed. 
"And  that  was  his  dear  kind  way  of  telling 
me   that  I    was    a   foolish    little    child.      Of 


146  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

course  I  was  a  foolish  little  child,  but  I 
couldn't  help  it!  Indeed  I  couldn't  help  it. 
And  I  must  go  on  crying.  No  one  need 
know." 

So  she  went  on  crying,  and  no  one  knew. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HIERONYMUS  GOES. 

They  were  captured,  those  little  wretches, 
the  hill-ponies,  having  been  chased  down  from 
all  directions,  and  gathered  together  in  the 
enclosure  set  apart  for  their  imprisonment. 
There  they  were,  cribbed,  cabined,  and 
confined,  some  of  them  distressed,  and  all  of 
them  highly  indignant  at  the  rough  treat- 
ment which  they  had  received.  This  gather- 
ing together  of  the  wild  ponies  occurred  two 
or  three  times  in  the  year,  when  the  owners 
assembled  to  identify  their  particular  herd, 
and  to  reimpress  their  mark  on  the  ponies 
which  belonged  to  them.  It  was  no  easy 
matter  to  drive  them  down  from  the  hills; 
though    indeed    they    came    down    willingly 

147 


148  AT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

enough  at  night  to  seek  what  they  might  de- 
vour. Then  one  might  hear  their  little  feet 
pattering  quickly  over  the  ground,  helter- 
skelter!  The  villagers  were  well  accustomed 
to  the  sound.  "It's  only  the  hill-ponies,  the 
rascals!"  they  would  say.  But  when  they 
were  wanted,  they  would  not  come.  They 
led  the  beaters  a  rare  dance  over  hill  and  dale ; 
but  it  always  ended  in  the  same  way.  Then, 
after  four  or  five  years  of  life  on  the  hills, 
their  owners  sold  them,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  all  their  fun,  and  all  their  shagginess 
too. 

Hieronymus  stood  near  the  enclosure 
watching  the  proceedings  with  the  greatest 
interest.  The  men  were  trying  to  divide  the 
ponies  into  groups,  according  to  the  mark  on 
their  backs.  But  this  was  no  easy  matter 
either;  the  little  creatures  kicked  and  threw 
themselves  about  in  every  direction  but  the 
right  one,  and  they  were  so  strong  that  their 
struggles     were    generally     successful.      The 


HIERONYMUS  GOES  149 

sympathies  of  Hieronymus  went  with  the 
rebels,  and  he  was  much  distressed  when  he 
saw  three  men  hanging  on  to  the  tail  of  one 
of  the  ponies,  and  trying  to  keep  him  back 
from  another  group. 

"I  say,  you  there!"  he  cried,  waving  his 
stick.     "I  can't  stand  that." 

Mrs.  Benbow,  who  was  standing  near  him, 
laughed,  and  called  him  to  order. 

"Now  don't  you  be  meddling  with  what 
you  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "You  may 
know  a  good  deal  about  books,  but  it's  not 
much  you'll  know  about  hill-ponies." 

"That's     quite    true,"    said    Hieronymus 

humbly. 

"Come  along  with  me  now,"  commanded 
Mrs.  Benbow,  "and  help  me    buy  a  red  pig!" 

Nothing  but  a  red  pig  would  have  made 
Hieronymus  desert  the  hill-ponies.  A  red 
pig  was  of  course  irresistible  to  any  one  in  his 
senses;  and  the  historian  followed  content- 
edly after  the  landlady  of  the  Green  Dragon. 


150  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

She  made  her  way  among  the  crowds  of  peo- 
ple who  had  come  to  this  great  horse-fair, 
which  was  the  most  important  one  of  the  whole 
year.  Hieronymus  was  much  interested  in 
every  one  and  everything  he  saw;  he  looked 
at  the  horses,  and  sheep,  and  cows,  and  ex- 
changed conversation  with  any  one  who  would 
talk  to  him. 

"There's  a  deal  of  money  will  change 
hands  to-day,"  said  a  jolly  old  farmer  to  him. 
"But  prices  be  dreadful  low  this  year.  Why, 
the  pigs  be  going  for  a  mere  nothing." 

"I'm  going  to  buy  a  pig,"  Hieronymus  said 
proudly,  "a  red  one." 

"Ah,"  said  the  farmer,  looking  at  him  wth 
a  sort  of  indulgent  disdain,  "it's  a  breed  as  I 
care  nothing  about  " 

Then  he  turned  to  one  of  his  colleagues, 
evidently  considering  Hieronymus  rather  a 
feeble  kind  of  individual,  with  whom  it  was 
not  profitable  to  talk. 

The  historian  was    depressed  for   the    mo- 


HIERONYMUS  GOES  151 

merit,  but  soon  recovered  his  spirits  when  he 
saw  the  fascinating  red  pigs.  And  his  pride 
and  conceit  knew  no  bounds  when  Mrs.  Ben- 
bow  actually  chose  and  bought  the  very 
animal  which  he  had  recommended  to  her 
notice.  He  saw  David  Ellis,  and  went  to 
tell  him  about  the  pig.  The  exciseman 
laughed,  and  then  looked  sad  again. 

"My  httle  Joan  is  very  unhappy,"  he  said, 
half  in  a  whisper.  "The  old  white  horse  is 
to  be  sold.  Do  you  see  her  there  yonder.? 
How  1  wish  I  could  buy  the  old  mare  and 
give  her  to  Joan!" 

"That  would  be  a  very  unwise  thing  for 
you  to  do,"  said  Hieronymus. 

"Yes,"  said  David.  "And  do  you  know, 
I've  been  thinking  of  what  you  said  about 
her  going  out  into  the  world.  And  I  found 
this  advertisement.      Shall  I  give  it  to  her?" 

Hieronymus  looked  at  it. 

"You're  a  dear  fellow,  David,"  he  said 
warmly.     "Yes,  give  it  to    her.     And  I    too 


152  /IT  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

have  been  thinking  of  what  you  said  to  me. 
I've  told  her  a  little  of  my  story,  and  she 
knows  now  how  my  heart  is  altogether  taken 
up  with  my  past.  So,  if  I've  done  any  harm 
to  her  and  you,  I  have  tried  to  set  it  right. 
And  to-morrow  I  am  going  home.  You  will 
see  me  off  at  the  station?" 

"I'll  be  there,"  said  the  exciseman. 

But  there  was  no  sign  in  his  manner  that 
he  wished  to  be  rid  of  Hieronymus.  The 
historian,  who  all  unconsciously  won  people's 
hearts,  all  unconsciously  kept  them  too. 
Even  Auntie  Lloyd,  to  whom  he  had  been 
presented,  owned  that  he  "had  a  way"  about 
him.  (But  then  he  had  asked  after  her 
sciatica!)  He  spoke  a  few  words  to  Joan, 
who  stood  lingering  near  the  old  white  mare. 
She  had  been  a  Httle  shy  of  him  since  he  had 
talked  so  openly  to  her;  and  he  had  noticed 
this,  and  used  all  his  geniality  to  set  her  at 
her  ease  again. 

"This  is  my  last  afternoon, "he  said  to  her. 


HIERONYMUS  GOES  153 

"and  I  have  crowned  the  achievements  of  my 
visit  here  by  choosing  a  red  pig.  Now  I'm 
going  back  to  the  big  barbarous  world  to 
boast  of  my  new  acquirements — brewing  beer, 
eating  pastry,  drinking  beef-tea,  cutting  up 
the  beans,  making  onion  pickles,  and  other 
odd  jobs  assigned  to  me  by  Queen  Elizabeth 
of  the  Green  Dragon.  Here  she  comes  to 
fetch  me,  for  we  are  going  to  drive  the  red 
pig  home  in  the  cart.  Then  I'm  to  have  some 
tea  with  rum  in  it,  and  some  of  those  horri- 
ble Shropshire  crumpets.  Then  if  I'm  alive 
after  the  crumpets  and  the  rum,  there  will 
be  a  few  more  odd  jobs  for  me  to  do,  and 
then  to-morrow  I  go.  As  for  yourself,  little 
secretary,  you  are  going  to  put  courage  into 
your  heart,  and  fight  your  battles  well.  Tell 
me?" 

"Yes,"  she  said;  and  she  looked  up  brightly, 
though  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  know  those  words,  ^ Hitch  your 
wagon  to  a  starV''  he  said.     "Emerson  was 


154  ^T  THE  GREEN  DR/IGON 

right.  The  wagon  spins  along  merrily  then. 
And  now  good-bye, little  secretary.  You  must 
come  and  see  me  off  at  the  station  to-mor- 
row.    I  want  all  my  friends  around  me." 

So  on  the  morrow  they  gatherd  round 
him,  Mr,  Benbow,  Mrs.  Benbow,  two  of  the 
Malt-House  Farm  boys,  the  old  woman  who 
kept  the  grocer's  shop,  and  who  had  been 
doing  a  good  trade  in  sweetmeats  since  Hie- 
ronymus  came,  the  exciseman,  and  Joan  Ham- 
mond, and  old  John  of  the  wooden  leg. 
They  were  all  there,  sorrowful  to  part  with 
him,  glad  to'^ave  known  him. 

"If  you  would  only  stay,"  said  Mrs.  Ben- 
bow; "there  are  so  many  odd  jobs  for  you  to 
do!" 

"No,  I  must  go,"  said  the  historian.  "There 
is  an  end  to  everything,  excepting  to  your 
beef-tea.      But  I've  been  very  happy." 

His  luggage  had  increased  since  he  came 
to  Little  Stretton.  He  had  arrived  with  a 
small    portmanteau;   he  went  away  with  the 


HIERONYMUS  GOES  155 

same  portmanteau,  an  oak  chair  which  Mr. 
Benbovv  had  given  him,  arid  a  small  hamper 
containing  Gamboge. 

"Take  care  how  you  carry  that  hamper," 
he  said  to  the  porter.  "There  is  a  dog  in- 
side undergoing  a  cat  incarnation!" 

To  Joan  he  said:  "Little  secretary,  answer 
the  advertisement  and  go  out  into  the  world." 

And  she  promised. 

And  to  David  he  said:  "When  you've 
finished  that  book-list  write  to  me  for  an- 
other one." 

And  he  promised. 

Then  the  train  moved  off,  and  the  dear 
kind  face  was  out  of  sight. 


Mrs.  Benbow  went  home  to  do  the  scour- 
ing and  cleaning. 

David  rode  off  to  Ludlow  and  bought  a 
book. 

Joan  sat  in  her   room  at  the   Malt- House 


15G  ^T  THE  GREEN  DRAGON 

Farm,   and  cried   her  heart  out.     Then   she 
looked  at  the  advertisement  and  answered  it. 
"It  was  kind  of  David,"  she  said. 


So  Joan  went  out  into  the    world. 


The  weeks,  the  months,  seem  long  with- 
out her.  He  buys  his  books,  and  with  every 
new  book  he  buys  new  comfort.  He  recalls 
the  historian's  words:  "Some  day,  when  she 
is  tired,  she  will  be  glad  to  lean  on  some 
one  whom  she  can  trust." 

So  David  waits. 

THE   END. 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON. 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON. 

BY   BEATRICE   HARRADEN. 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  many  of  the  stu- 
dents in  the  National  Gallery  had  left  off 
work,  and  were  refreshing  themselves  with 
lunch  and  conversation.  There  was  one  old 
worker  who  had  not  stirred  from  his  place; 
but  he  had  put  down  his  brush,  and  had  taken 
from  his  pocket  a  small  book,  which  was, 
like  its  owner,  thin  and  shabby  of  covering. 
He  seemed  to  find  pleasure  in  reading  it,  for 
he  turned  over  its  pages  with  all  the  tender- 
ness characteristic  of  one  who  loves  what  he 
reads.  Now  and  again  he  glanced  at  his  un- 
finished copy  of  the  beautiful  portrait  of  An- 
drea del  Sarto,  and  once  his  eyes  rested  on 
another  copy  nex*-  to  his,  better    and    truer 

159 


160  y4N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

than  his;  and  once  he  stooped  to  pick  up  a 
girl's  prune-colored  tie  which  had  fallen  from 
the  neighboring  easel.  After  this  he  seemed 
to  become  unconscious  of  his  surroundings, 
as  unconscious  indeed  as  any  one  of  the  pic- 
tures near  him.  Any  one  might  have  been 
justified  in  mistaking  him  for  the  portrait  of 
a  man,  but  that  his  lips  moved;  for  it  was 
his  custom  to  read  softly  to  himself. 

The  students  passed  back  to  their  places, 
not  troubling  to  notice  him,  because  they 
knew  from  experience  that  he  never  noticed 
them,  and  that  all  greetings  were  wasted  on 
him,  and  all  words  were  wanton  expenditure 
of  breath.  They  had  come  to  regard  him 
very  much  in  the  same  way  as  many  of  us 
regard  the  wonders  of  Nature,  without 
astonishment,  without  any  questionings,  and 
often  without  any  interest.  One  girl,  a  new- 
comer, did  chance  to  say  to  her  companion; 

"How  ill  that  old  man  looks!" 

"Oh,  he  always  looks  like    that,"  was  the 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  161 

answer.  "You  will  soon  get  accustomed  to 
him.  Come  along!  I  must  finish  my 'Blind 
Beggar'  this  afternoon." 

In  a  few  minutes  most  of  the  workers  were 
busy  again,  although  there  were  some  who 
contmued  to  chat  quietly,  and  several  young 
men  who  seemed  reluctant  to  leave  their  girl 
friends,  and  who  were  by  no  means  encour- 
aged to  go!  One  young  man  came  to  claim 
his  book  and  pipe,  which  he  had  left  in  the 
charge  of  a  bright-eyed  girl,  who  was  copying 
Sir  Joshua's  Angels.  She  gave  him  his  treas- 
ures, and  received  in  exchange  a  dark-red 
rose,, which  she  fastened  in  her  belt;  and 
then  he  returned  to  his  portrait  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons.  But  there  was  something  in  his  dis- 
consolate manner  which  made  one  suspect 
that  he  thought  less  of  Mrs.  Siddons'  beauty 
than  of  the  beauty  of  the  girl  who  was  wear- 
ing the  dark-red  rose !  The  strangers  stroll- 
ing through  the  rooms,  stopped  now  and 
again  to  peer  curiously  at  the  students'  work. 


102  /IN    IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

They  were  stared  at  indignantly  by  the  stu- 
dents themselves,  but  they  made  no  attempt 
lo  move  away,  and  even  ventured  sometimes 
to  pass  criticisms  of  no  tender  character  on 
some  of  the  copies.  The  fierce-looking  man 
who  was  copying  "The  Horse  Fair"  dehber- 
ately  put  down  his  brushes,  folded  his  arms, 
and  waited  defiantly  until  they  had  gone  by; 
but  others,  wiser  in  their  generation,  went 
on  painting  calmly.  Several  workers  were 
painting  the  new  Raphael;  one  of  them  was 
a  white-haired  old  gentlewoman,  whose  hand 
was  trembling,  and  yet  skillful  still.  More 
than  once  she  turned  to  give  a  few  hints  to 
the  young  girl  near  her,  who  looked  in  some 
distress  and  doubt.  Just  the  needful  help 
was  given,  and  then  the  girl  plied  her  brush 
merrily,  smiling  the  while  with  pleasure  and 
gratitude.  There  seemed  to  be  a  genial, 
kindly  influence  at  work,  a  certain  homeliness 
too,  which  must  needs  assert  itself  where 
many  are  gathered  together,  working  side  by 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  163 

side.  All  made  a  harmony:  the  wonderful 
pictures  gathered  from  many  lands  and  many 
centuries,  each  with  its  meaning,  and  its  mes- 
sage from  the  Past;  the  ever-present  memo- 
ries of  the  painters  themselves,  who  had 
worked  and  striven  and  conquered;  and  the 
living  human  beings,  each  with  his  wealth 
of  earnest  endeavor  and  hope. 

Meanwhile,  the  old  man  read  on  uninter- 
rupted, until  two  hands  were  put  over  his 
book,  and  a  gentle  voice  said: 

"Mr.  Lindall,  you  have  had  no  lunch  again. 
Do  you  know,  I  begin  to  hate  Lucretius.  He 
always  makes  you  forget  your  food." 

The  old  man  looked  up,  and  something 
like  a  smile  passed  over  his  joyless  face  when 
he  saw  Helen  Stanley  bending  over  him. 

"Ah!"  he  answered,  "you  must  not  hate 
Lucretius.  I  have  had  more  pleasant  hours 
with  him  than  with  any  living  person." 

He  rose,  and  came  forward  to  examine  her 
copy  of  Andrea  del  Sarto's  portrait. 


164  AN  IDYLL  OF  LOl^ DOS 

"Yours  is  better  than  mine,"  he  said  criti- 
cally; "in  fact,  mine  is  a  failure.  I  think  1 
shall  only  get  a  small  price  for  mine;  indeed, 
I  doubt  whether  I  shall  get  sufficient  to  pay 
for  my  funeral." 

"You  speak  dismally,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing. 

"I   missed   you   yesterday,"  he  contmued, 

half-dreamily.     "I  left  my  work,  and  I  wan- 
dered through  the  rooms,  and  I  did  not  even 
read  Lucretius.      Something  seemed  to    have 
gone  out  from  my  life;   at  first  I  thought  it 
must  be  my  favorite  Raphael,  or  the  Murillo; 
but  it  was  neither  the  one   nor    the  other,  it 
was  you.    That  was  strange,  wasn't  it.?     But 
you   know  we  get    accustomed  to   anything, 
and   perhaps  I  should  have  missed    you  less 
the    second  day,  and  by  the  end  of  a  week  I 
should  not  have   missed   you  at  all.      Merci- 
fully, we  have  in  us  the  power  of  forgetting." 
"I  do  not  wish  to   plead  for  myself,"  she 
said,  "but  I  do  not  believe    that  you  or  any 


^N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  165 

one  could  really  forget.  That  which  outsiders 
call  forgetfulness  might  be  called  by  the  bet- 
ter name  of  resignation." 

"I  don't  care  about  talking  any  more  now," 
he  said  suddenly,  and  he  went  to  his  easel 
and  worked  silently  at  his  picture;  and  Helen 
Stanley  glanced  at  him,  and  thought  she  had 
never  seen  her  old  companion  look  so  forlorn 
and  desolate  as  he  did  to-day.  He  looked 
as  if  no  gentle  hand  had  ever  been  placed  on 
him  in  kindliness  and  affection;  and  that 
seemed  to  her  a  terrible  thing,  for  she  was 
one  of  those  prehistorically-minded  persons 
who  persist  in  believing  that  affection  is  as 
needful  to  human  life  as  rain  to  flower-life. 
When  first  she  came  to  work  at  the  gallery, 
some  twelve  months  ago,  she  had  noticed 
this  old  man,  and  had  wished  for  his  com- 
panionship; she  was  herself  lonely  and  sor- 
rowful, and,  although  young,  had  to  fight 
her  own  battles,  and  had  learned  something 
of   the    difficulties  of  fighting;   and  this  had 


166  Ahl  IDYLL  QF  LONDON 

given  her  an  experience  beyond  her  years. 
She  was  not  more  than  twenty-four  years  of 
age,  but  she  looked  rather  older,  and  though 
she  had  beautiful  eyes,  full  of  meaning  and 
kindness,  her  features  were  decidedly  plain 
as  well  as  unattractive.  There  were  some 
in  the  Gallery  who  said  among  themselves 
jestingly,  that  Mr.  Lindall  had  waited  so 
many  years  before  talking  to  any  one,  he 
might  have  chosen  some  one  better  worth 
the  waiting  for!  But  they  soon  got  accus- 
tomed to  seeing  Helen  Stanley  and  Mr.  Lin- 
dall together,  and  they  laughed  less  than  be- 
fore; and  meanwhile  the  acquaintance  rip- 
ened into  a  sort  of  friendship,  half  sulky  on 
his  part,  and  wholly  kind  on  her  part.  He 
told  her  nothing  about  himself,  and  asked 
nothing  about  herself;  for  weeks  he  never 
even  knew  her  name.  Sometimes  he  did  not 
speak  at  all,  and  the  two  friends  would  work 
silently  side  by  side  until  it  was  time  to  go; 
and  then  he  waited  until  she  was   ready,  and 


/!N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  167 

walked  with  her  across  Trafalgar  Square, 
where  they  parted  and  went  their  own  ways. 
But  occasionally,  when  she  least  expected 
it,  he  would  speak  with  glowing  enthusiasm 
on  art;  then  his  eyes  seemed  to  become 
bright,  and  his  bent  figure  more  erect,  and 
his  whole  bearing  proud  and  dignified.  There 
were  times,  too,  when  he  would  speak  on 
other  subjects;  on  the  morality  of  free 
thought,  and  on  those  who  had  died  to  in- 
dicate free  thought;  on  Bruno,  of  blessed 
memory,  on  him,  and  scores  of  others  too. 
He  would  speak  of  the  different  schools  of 
philosophy;  he  would  laugh  at  himself,  and  at 
all  who,  having  given  time  and  thought  to 
the  study  of  life's  complicated  problems,  had 
not  reached  one  step  farther  than  the  old 
world  thinkers.  Perhaps  he  would  quote 
one  of  his  favorite  philosophers,  and  then 
suddenly  relapse  into  silence,  returning  to  his 
wonted  abstraction,  and  to  his  indifference 
to    his    surroundings.     Helen    Stanley    had 


1G3  ^N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

learned  to  understand  his  ways,  and  to  ap- 
preciate his  mind,  and,  without  intruding  on 
him  in  any  manner,  had  put  herself  gently 
into  his  life,  as  his  quiet  campanion  and  his 
friend.  No  one,  in  her  presence,  dared  to 
speak  slightingly  of  the  old  man,  to  make  fun 
of  his  tumble-down  appearance,  or  of  his 
worn-out  silk  hat  with  a  crack  in  the  side, 
or  of  his  rag  of  a  black  tie,  which,  together 
with  his  overcoat,  had  "seen  better  days." 
Once  she  brought  her  needle  and  thread, 
and  darned  the  torn  sleeve  during  her  lunch 
time;  and  though  he  never  knew  it,  it  was  a 
satisfaction  to  her  to  have  helped  him. 

To-day  she  noticed  that  he  was  painting 
badly,  and  that  he  seemed  to  take  no  interest 
in  his  work;  but  she  went  on  busily  with  her 
own  picture,  and  was  so  engrossed  in  it  that 
she  did  not  at  first  observe  that  he  had 
packed  up  his  brushes,  and  was  preparing  to 

go  home. 

"Three  more  strokes,"  he  said  quietly,  "and 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  169 

you  will  have  finished  your  picture.  I  shall 
never  finish  mine.  Perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  set  it  right  for  me.  I  am  not  com- 
ing here  again.  I  don't  seem  to  have  caught 
the  true  expression;  what  do  you  think.? 
But  I  am  not  going  to  let  it  worry  me,  for 
I  am  sure  you  will  promise  to  do  your  best 
for  me.  See,  I  will  hand  over  these  colors 
and  these  brushes  to  you,  and  no  doubt  you 
will  accept  the  palette  as  well.  I  have  no 
further  use  for  it." 

•  Helen  Stanley  took  the  palette  which  he 
held  out  toward  her,  and  looked  at  him  as 
though  she  would  wish  to  question  him. 

"It  is  very  hot  here,"  he  continued,  "and 
I  am  going  out.      I  am  tired  of  work." 

He  hesitated,  and  then  added:  "I  should 
like  you  to  come  with  me,  if  you  can  spare 
the  time." 

She  packed  up  her  things  at  once,  and  the 
two  friends  moved  slowly  away,  he  gazing 
absently  at  the  pictures,  and  she  wondering 


170  AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

in  her  mind  as  to  the  meaning  of  his  strange 

mood. 

When  they  were   on   the  steps   inside  the 
building,    he    turned  to  Helen    Stanley    and 

said: 

"I  should  like  to  go  back  to  the  pictures 
once  more.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  stand  among 
them  just  a  little  longer.  They  have  been  my 
companions  for  so  long  that  they  are  almost 
part  of  myself.  I  can  close  my  eyes  and  re- 
call them  faithfully.  But  I  want  to  take  a 
last  look  at  them;  I  want  to  feel  once  more 
the  presence  of  the  great  masters,  and  to  re- 
fresh my  mind  with  their  genius.  When  I 
look  at  their  work,  I  think  of  their  life,  and 
can  only  wonder  at  their  deaths.  It  was  so 
strange  that  they  should  die." 

They  went  back  together,  and  he  took  her 
to  his  favorite  pictures,  but  remained  speech- 
less before  them,  and  she  did  not  disturb  his 
thoughts.      At  last  he  said: 

"I  am  ready  to  go.   I  have  said  farewell  to 


yiN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  171 

them  all,  I  know  of  nothing  more  wonder- 
ful than  being  among  a  number  of  fine  pic- 
tures. It  is  almost  overwhelming.  One  ex- 
pects Nature  to  be  grand;  but  one  does  not 
expect  Man  to  be  grand." 

"You  know  we  don't  agree  there,"  she  an- 
swered. "/  expect  everything  grand  and 
great  from  Man." 

They  went  out  of  the  Gallery,  and  into 
Trafalgar  Square.  It  was  a  scorching  after- 
noon in  August,  but  there  was  some  cooling 
comfort  in  seeing  the  dancing  water  of  the 
fountains  sparkling  so  brightly  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

"Do  you  mind  stopping  here  a  few  min- 
utes?" he  said.  "I  should  like  to  sit  down 
and  watch.      There  is  so  much  to  see." 

She  led  the  way  to  a  seat,  one  end  of 
which  was  occupied  by  a  workman,  who  was 
sleeping  soundly,  and  snoring  too,  his  arms 
folded  tightly  together.  He  had  a  little  clay 
pipe  in  the  corner  of   his    mouth;    it  seemed 


172  AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

to  be  tucked  in  so  snugly  that  there  was  not 
much  danger  of  its  falHng  to  the  ground. 
At  last  Helen  spoke  to  her  companion. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  saying  that  you 
will  not  be  able  to  finish  your  picture?  Per- 
haps you  are  not  well— indeed,  you  don't 
look  well.  You  make  me  anxious,  for  I 
have  a  great  regard  for  you." 

"I  am  ill  and  suffering,"  he  answered 
quietly.  "I  thought  I  should  have  died  yes- 
terday; but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  live  until 
I  saw  you  again,  and  I  thought  I  would  ask 
you  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  me  and  go 
with  me  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  sit 
with  me  in  the  Cloisters.  I  do  not  feel  able 
to  go  by  myself,  and  I  know  of  no  one  to 
ask  except  you  ;  and  I  believed  you  would  not 
refuse  me,  for  you  have  been  very  kind  to 
me.  I  do  not  quite  understand  why  you 
have  been  kind  to  me,  but  I  am  wonderfully 
grateful  to  you.  To-day  I  heard  some  one 
in    the    Gallery  say  that    you  were    plain;    I 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  173 

turned  round  and  I  said,  'I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  think  she  is  very  beautiful. '  I  think  they 
laughed,  and  that  puzzled  me;  for  you  have 
always  seenned  to  me  a  very  beautiful  per- 
son." 

At  that  moment  the  little  clay  pipe  fell 
from  the  workman's  mouth,  and  was  broken 
into  bits.  He  awoke  with  a  start,  gazed 
stupidly  at  the  old  man  and  his  companion, 
and  at  the  broken  clay  pipe. 

"Curse  my  luck!"  he  said,  yawning.  "I 
was  fond  of  that  damned  little  pipe." 

The  old  man  drew  his  own  pipe  and  his 
own  tobacco-pouch   from  his  pocket. 

"Take  these,  stranger,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
want  them.      And  good  luck  to  you!" 

The  man's  face  brightened  up  as  he  took 
the  pipe  and  pouch. 

"You're  uncommon  kind,"  he  said.  "Can 
you  spare  them?"  he  added,  holding  them 
out  half-reluctantly. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  man;   "I  shall  not 


174  /I.M  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

smoke  again.      You  may  as  well    have    these 
matches,    too." 

The  laborer  put  them  in  his  pocket,  smiled 
his  thanks,  and  walked  some  little  dis- 
tance off;  and  Helen  watched  him  examine 
his  new  pipe,  and  then  fill  it  with  tobacco 
and  light  it. 

Mr.  Lindall  proposed  that  they  should  be 
getting  on  their  way  to  Westminster,  and 
they  soon  found  themselves  in  the  Abbey, 
They  sat  together  in  the  Poet's  Corner.  A 
smile  of  quiet  happiness  broke  over  the  old 
man's  tired  face  as  he  looked  around  and 
took  in  all  the  solemn  beauty  and  grandeur 
of  the  resting  place  of  the  great. 

"You  know,"  he  said  half  to  himself,  half 
to  his  companion,  "I  have  no  belief  of  any 
kind,  and  no  hopes  and  no  fears;  but  all 
through  my  life  it  has  been  a  comfort  to  me 
to  sit  quietly  in  a  church  or  a  cathedral. 
The  graceful  arches,  the  sun  shining  through 
the    stained    windows,  the   vaulted    roof,  the 


/ihl  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  175 

noble  columns,  have  helped  me  to  understand 
the  mystery  which  all  our  books  of  philosophy 
cannot  make  clear,  though  we  bend  over 
them  year  after  year,  and  grow  old  over  them, 
old  in  age  and  in  spirit.  Though  I  myself 
have  never  been  outwardly  a  worshiper,  I 
have  never  sat  in  a  place  of  worship  but  that, 
for  the  time  being,  I  have  felt  a  better  man. 
But  directly  the  voice  of  doctrine  or  dogma 
was  raised,  the  spell  was  broken  for  me,  and 
that  which  I  hoped  was  being  made  clear  had 
no  further  meaning  for  me.  There  was  only 
one  voice  which  ever  helped  me,  the  voice  of 
the  organ  arousing  me,  filling  me  with  strange 
longing,  with  welcome  sadness,  with  solemn 
gladness,  I  have  always  thought  that  music 
can  give  an  answer  when  everything  else  is 
of  no  avail.    I  do  not  know  what  you  believe." 

"I  am  so    young  to  have    found    out,"  she 
said,  almost  pleadingly. 

"Don't  worry  yourself,"  he  answered  kindly. 
"Be  brave  and    strong,  and  let   the   rest   go. 


17G  /IN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

I  should  like  to  live  long  enough  to  see  what 
you  will  make  of  your  life.  I  believe  you 
will  never  be  false  to  yourself  or  to  any  one. 
That  is  rare.  I  believe  you  will  not  let  any 
lower  ideal  take  the  place  of  your  high  ideal 
of  what  is  beautiful  and  noble  in  art,  in  life. 
I  believe  that  you  will  never  let  despair  get 
the  upper  hand  of  you.  If  it  does,  you  may 
as  well  die;  yes,  you  may  as  well  die.  And 
I  entreat  you  not  to  lose  your  entire  faith  in 
humanity.  There  is  nothing  like  that  for 
withering  up  the  very  core  of  the  heart.  I 
tell  you,  humanity  and  nature  have  so  much 
in  common  with  each  other  that  if  you  lose 
your  entire  faith  in  the  former,  you  will  lose 
part  of  your  pleasure  in  the  latter;  you  will 
see  less  beauty  in  the  trees,  the  flowers,  and 
the  fields,  less  grandeur  in  the  mighty  moun- 
tains and  the  sea;  the  seasons  will  come  and 
go,  and  you  will  scarcely  heed  their  coming 
and  going;  winter  will  settle  over  your  soul, 
just  as  it  settled  over  mine.  And  you  see 
what  I  am." 


/f-N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  177 

They  had  now  passed  into  the  Cloisters, 
and  they  sat  down  in  one  of  the  recesses  of 
the  windows,  and  looked  out  upon  the  rich 
plot  of  grass  which  the  Cloisters  inclose. 
There  was  not  a  soul  there  except  themselves^ 
the  cool  and  the  quiet  and  the  beauty  of  the 
spot  refreshed  these  pilgrims,  and  they  rested 
in  calm  enjoyment. 

Helen  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
"I  am  glad  you  have  brought  me  here,"  she 
said;  "I  shall  never  grumble  now  at  not  be- 
ing able  to  afford  a  fortnight  in  the  country. 
This  is  better  than  anything  else." 

"It  has  always  been  my  summer  holiday 
to  come  here,"  he  said.  "When  I  first  came 
I  was.  like  you,  young  and  hopeful,  and  I  had 
wonderful  visions  of  what  I  intended  to  do 
and  to  be.  Here  it  was  I  made  a  vow  that 
I  would  become  a  great  painter,  and  win  for 
myself  a  resting-place  in  this  very  abbey. 
There  is  humor  in  the  situation,  is  there  not.?" 

"I  don't  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  an- 


178  yIN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

swered.  "It  is  not  always  possible  for  us  to 
fulfill  all  our  ambitions.  Still,  it  is  better  to 
have  had  them  and  failed  of  them,  than  not 
to  have  had  them  at  all." 

"Possibly,"  he  replied  coldly.  Then  he 
added:  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something 
about  yourself.      You  have  always  interested 

me." 

"1  have  nothing  to  tell  you  about  myself," 
she  answered  frankly.  "I  am  alone  in  the 
world,  without  friends  and  without  relations. 
The  very  name  I  use  is  not  a  real  name.  I 
was  a  foundling.  At  times  I  am  sorry  I  do 
not  belong  to  any  one,  and  at  other  times  I 
am  glad  there  is  no  one  whom  I  might  possibly 
vex  and  disappoint.  You  know  I  am  fond 
of  books  and  of  art,  so  my  life  is  not  al- 
together empty,  and  I  find  my  pleasure  in  hard 
work.  When  I  saw  you  at  the  gallery  I 
wished  to  know  you,  and  I  asked  one  of  the 
students  who  you  were.  He  told  me  you  were 
a  misanthrope,  and    I    was    sorry,  because  I 


^N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  179 

believed  that  humanity  ought  to  be  helped  and 
loved,  not  despised.  Then  I  did  not  care  so 
much  about  knowing  you,  until  one  da}'  you 
spoke  to  me  about  my  painting,  and  that  was 
the  beginning  of  our  friendship." 

"Forty  years  ago,"  he  said  sadly, "the  friend 
of  my  boyhood  deceived  me.  I  had  not 
thought  it  possible  that  he  could  be  false  to 
me.  He  screened  himself  behind  me,  and  be- 
came prosperous  and  respected  at  the  ex- 
pense of  my  honor.  I  vowed  I  would  never 
again  make  a  friend.  A  few  years  later,  when 
I  was  beginning  to  hold  up  my  head,  the  wom- 
an whom  I  loved  deceived  me.  Then  I  put 
from  me  all  affection  and  all  love.  Greater 
natures  than  mine  are  better  able  to  bear 
these  troubles,  but  my  heart  contracted  and 
withered  up." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  many  recollec- 
tions overpowering  him.  Then  he  went  on 
telling  her  the  history  of  his  life,  unfolding 
to  her  the  story  of  his  hopes  and   ambitions, 


180  ^N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

describing    to   her  the    very  home    where  he 
was  born,  and  the  dark-eyed  sister  whom  he 
had    loved,  and  with  whom    he    had    played 
over  the  daisied  fields  and  through    the    car- 
peted woods,  and  all  among  the  richly  tinted 
bracken.   One  day  he  was  told  she  was  dead, 
and  that  he  must  never  speak  her  name;  but 
he  spoke  it  all  the    day  and   all   the   night- 
Beryl,  nothing  but  Beryl;   and  he  looked   for 
her  in  the  fields  and  in  the  woods  and  among 
the    bracken.      It    seemed   as    if  he    had  un- 
locked the  casket  of  his  heart,   closed    for  so 
many   years,  and   as  if   all  the    memories  of 
the   past    and    all  the  secrets  of  his  Hfe  were 
rushing  out,  glad  to  be   free  once  more,  and 
grateful  for  the  open  air  of  sympathy. 

"Beryl  was  as  swift  as  a  deer,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "You  would  have  laughed  to  see 
her  on  the  moor.  Ah,  it  was  hard  to  give 
up  all  thoughts  of  meeting  her  again.  They 
told  me  I  should  see  her  in  heaven,  but  I  did 
not  care  about   heaven.      I  wanted  Beryl  on 


/IN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  181 

earth,  as  I  knew  her,  a  merry,  laughing  sis- 
ter. I  think  3^ou  are  right;  we  don't  forget, 
we  become  resigned  in    a  dead,   dull    kind  of 

way." 

Suddenly  he  said:  "I  don't  know  why  I 
have  told  you  all  this.  And  yet  it  has  been 
such  a  pleasure  to  me.  You  are  the  only 
person  to  whom  I  could  have  spoken  about 
myself,  for  no  one  else  but  you  would  have 
cared." 

*'Don't  you   think,"  she  said  gently,  "that 
you  made  a  mistake  in    letting  your    experi- 
ences embitter  you?      Because  you  had  been 
unlucky  in   one   or  two   instances,  it  did  not 
follow  that  all  the   world  was   against  you. 
Perhaps     you     unconsciously    put     yourself 
against     all    the   world,    and    therefore    saw 
every  one  in  an  unfavorable  light.      It  seems 
so  easy  to  do  that.      Trouble    comes  to  most 
people,  doesn't  it.?  and  your  philosophy  should 
have  taught  you  to  make  the   best   of  it.      At 
least,  that  is  my  notion  of  the    value  of    phi- 
losophy." 


182  /iN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

She  spoke  timidly  and  hesitatingly,  as 
though  she  gave  utterance  to  these  words 
against  her  will. 

"I  am  sure  you  are  right,  child,"  he  said 
eagerly. 

He  put  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  but  he  could 
not  keep  back  the  tears. 

"I  have  been  such  a  lonely  old  man,"  he 
sobbed;  "no  one  can  tell  what  a  lonely,  love- 
less life  mine  has  been  If  I  were  not  so  old 
and  so  tired,  I  should  like  to  begin  all  over 
again." 

He  sobbed  for  many  minutes,  and  she  did 
not  know  what  to  say  to  him  of  comfort;  but 
she  took  his  hand  within  her  own  and  gently 
caressed  it,  as  one  might  do  to  a  little  child 
in  pain  He  looked  up  and  smiled  through 
his  tears. 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  me,"  he  said, 
"and  I  dare  say  you  have  thought  me  un- 
grateful. You  mended  my  coat  for  me  one 
morning,  and  not  a  day  has  passed  but  that  I 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  183 

have  looked  at  the  darn  and  thought  of  you. 
I  like  to  remember  that  you  have  done  it  for 
me.  But  you  have  done  far  more  than  this 
for  me;  you  have  put  some  sweetness  into 
my  life.  Whatever  becomes  of  me  hereafter, 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  think  of  my  life  on 
earth  as  anything  but  beautiful,  because  you 
thought  kindly  of  me,  and  acted  kindly  for  me. 
The  other  night,  when  this  terrible  pain  came 
over  me,  I  wished  you  were  near  me;  I 
wished  to  hear  your  voice.  There  is  very 
beautiful  music  in  your  voice." 

"I  would  have  come  to  you  gladly,"  she 
said,  smihng  quietly  at  him.  "You  must 
make  a  promise  that  when  you  feel  ill  again 
you  will  send  for  me.  Then  you  will 
see  what  a  splendid  nurse  I  am,  and  how 
soon  you  will  become  strong  and  well  under 
my  care;  strong  enough  to  paint  many  more 
pictures,  each  one  better  than  the  last.  Now, 
will  you  promise?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  and    he    raised   her   hand 
reverently  to  his  lips. 


184  ^N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

"You  are  not  angry  with  me  for  doing 
that?"  he  asked  suddenly.  "I  should  not 
like  to  vex  you." 

"I  am  not    vexed,"    she    answered    kindly. 

"Then  perhaps  I  may  kiss  it  once  more?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  and  again  he  raised 
her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  was 
kind  of  you.  Do  you  see  that  broken  sun- 
ray  yonder?  Is  it  not  golden?  I  find  it  very 
pleasant  to  sit  here;  and  I  am  quite  happy 
and  almost  free  from  pain.  Lately  I  have 
been  troubled  with  a  dull,  thudding  pain  near 
my  heart,  but  now  I  feel  so  strong  that  T 
believe  I  shall  finish  that  Andrea  del  Sarto 
after  all  " 

"Of  course  you  will,"  she  answered  cheer- 
ily, "and  I  shall  have  to  confess  that  yours 
is  better  than  mine.  I  am  quite  willing  to 
yield  the  palm  to  you." 

"I  must  alter  the  expression  of  the  mouth," 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  185 

he  replied.  "That  is  the  part  which  has 
worried  me,  I  don't  think  I  told  you  that  I 
have  had  a  commission  to  copy  Rembrandt's 
old  Jew.  I  must  set  to  work  on  that  next 
week." 

"But  you  have  given  me  your  palette  and 
brushes!"  she  laughed. 

"You  must  be  generous  enough  to  lend 
them  to  me,"  he  said,  smiling.  "By  the 
way,  I  intend  to  give  you  my  books,  all  of 
them.  Some  day  I  must  show  them  to  you; 
I  especially  value  my  philosophical  books,  they 
have  been  my  faithful  companions  through 
many  years.  I  believe  you  do  not  read  Greek. 
That  is  a  pity,  because  you  would  surely  en- 
joy Aristotle.  I  think  I  must  teach  you  Greek; 
it  would  be  an  agreeable  legacy  to  leave  you 
when  I  pass  away    into  the    Great  Silence." 

"I  should  like  to  learn,"  she  said,  wonder- 
ing to  hear  him  speak  so  unreservedly.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  great  barrier  had  been 
rolled  aside,  and    as  if    she  were    getting   to 


180  /IN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

know  him  better,  having  been  allowed  to 
glance  into  his  past  life,  to  sympathize  with 
his  past  mistakes,  and  with  the  failure  of  his 
ambitions,  and  with  the  deadening  of  his 
heart. 

"You  must  read  ^Eschylus,"  he  continued 
enthusiastically,  "and  if  I  mistake  not,  the 
'Agamemnon'  will  mark  an  epoch  in  your 
life.  You  will  find  that  all  these  studies  will 
serve  to  ennoble  your  art,  and  you  will  be 
able  to  put  mind  into  your  work,  and  not 
merely  form  and  color.  Do  you  know,  I 
feel  so  well  that  I  believe  I  shall  not  only 
live  to  finish  Andrea  del  Sarto,  but  also  to 
smoke  another   pipe?" 

"You  have  been  too  rash  to-day,"  she 
laughed,  "giving  away  your  pipe  and  pouch, 
your  palette  and  brushes  in  this  reckless 
manner!  I  must  get  you  a  new  pipe  to-mor- 
row. I  wonder  you  did  not  part  with  your 
venerable   Lucretius." 

"That   reminds  me,"  he    said,   fumbling  in 


AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  187 

his  pocket,  "I  think  I  have  dropped  my  Lu- 
cretius. I  fancy  I  left  it  somewhere  in  the 
Poet's  Corner.  It  would  grieve  me  to  lose 
that  book." 

"Let  me  go  and  look  for  it,"  she  said,  and 
she  advanced  a  few  steps  and  then  came  back 
to  him. 

"You  have  been  saying  many  kind  words 
to  me,"  she  said,  as  she  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  "and  I  have  not  told  you  that  I  value 
your  friendship  and  am  grateful  to  you  for 
letting  me  be  more  than  a  mere  stranger  to 
you.  I  have  been  very  lonely  in  my  life,  for 
I  am  not  one  to  make  friends  easily,  and  it 
has  been  a  great  privilege  to  me  to  talk  with 
you.  I  want  you  to  know  this;  for  if  I  have 
been  anything  to  you,  you  have  been  a  great 
deal  to  me.  You  see,  although  I  am  young, 
I  have  long  since  learned  somewhat  of  sorrow. 
I  have  had  hard  times  and  hard  words,  and 
have  never  met  with  much  sympathy  from 
those    of    my    own  age.     I  have  found  them 


188  /iN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

narrow  and  unyielding,  and  they  found  me 
dull  and  uninteresting.  They  had  passed 
through  few  experiences  and  knew  nothing 
about  failure  or  success,  and  some  of  them 
did  not  even  understand  the  earnestness  of 
endeavor,  and  laughed  at  me  when  I  spoke 
of  a  high  ideal.  So  I  withdrew  into  myself, 
and  should  probably  have  grown  still  more 
isolated  than  I  was  before, but  that  I  met  you, 
and  as  time  went  on  we  became  friends.  I 
shall  always  remember  your  teaching,  and, 
though  all  the  world  may  laugh,  1  will  try  to 
keep  to  a  high  ideal  of  life  and  art,  and  I  will 
not  let  despair  creep  into  my  heart,  and  I 
will  not  lose  my  faith  in  humanity." 

As  she  spoke,  a  lingering  ray  of  sunshine 
lit  up  her  face  and  gently  caressed  her  soft 
brown  hair;  slight  though  her  form,  and 
somber  her  clothes,  and  unlovely  her  fea- 
tures, she  seemed  a  gracious  presence,  beau- 
tiful and  gladdening,  because  of  her  earnest- 
ness. 


Ahl  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  189 

"Now,"  she  said,  "you  rest  here  until  I 
come  back  with  your  Lucretius,  and  then  I 
think  I  must  be  getting  on  my  way  home.  But 
you  must  fix  a  time  for  our  first  Greek  lesson; 
for  we  must  begin  to-morrow." 

When  she  had  gone  he  walked  in  the  Clois- 
ters, holding  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  his  stick 
under  his  arm.  There  was  a  quiet  smile  on 
his  face,  which  was  called  forth  by  pleasant 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  and  he  did  not  look 
quite  so  shrunken  and  shriveled  as  usual. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground;  but  he 
raised  them  and  observed  a  white  cat  creep- 
ing toward  him.  It  came  and  rubbed  itself 
against  his  foot,  and  purring  with  all  its 
might,  seemed  determined  to  win  some  kind 
of  notice  from  him.  The  old  man  stooped 
down  to  stroke  it,  and  was  just  touching  its 
sleek  coat,  when  he  suddenly  withdrew  his 
hand  and  groaned  deeply.  He  struggled  to 
the  recess  and  sank  back.  The  stick  fell  on 
the    stone  with  a  clatter,   and  the    battered 


190  /IN  IDYLL  OH  LONDON 

hat  rolled  down  beside  it,  and  the  white  cat 
fled  away  in  terror;  but  realizing  that  there 
was  no  cause  for  alarm^  it  came  back  and 
crouched  near  the  silent  figure  of  the  old  man, 
watching  him  intently.  Then  it  stretched  out 
its  paw  and  played  with  his  hand,  doing  its 
utmost  to  coax  him  into  a  little  fun;  but  he 
would  not  be  coaxed,  and  the  cat  lost  all  pa- 
tience with  him,  and  left  him  to  himself. 

Meanwhile  Helen  Stanley  was  looking  for 
the  lost  Lucretius  in  the  Poet's  Corner. 
She  found  it  lying  near  Chaucer's  tomb,  and 
was  just  going  to  take  it  to  her  friend  when 
she  saw  the  workman  to  whom  they  had 
spoken  in  Trafalgar  Square.  He  recognized 
her  at  once  and  came  toward  her. 

"I've  been  having  a  quiet  half-hour  here," 
he  said.  "It  does  me  a  sight  of  good  to  sit 
in  the  Abbey." 

"You  should  go  into  the  Cloisters,"  she 
said  kindly.  "I  have  been  sitting  there  with 
my  friend.  He  will  be  interested  to  hear 
that  uou  love  this  beautiful  Abbey." 


^N  IDYLL  OF  LONDON  191 

"I  should  like  to  see  him  again,"  said  the 
workman.  "He  had  a  kind  way  about  him, 
and  that  pipe  he  gave  me  is  an  uncommon 
good  one;  still,  I  am  sorry  I  smashed  the 
httle  clay  pipe.  I'd  grown  used  to  it.  I'd 
smoked  it  ever  since  my  little  girl  died  and 
left  me  alone  in  the  world.  I  used  to  bring 
my  little  girl  here,  and  now  I  come  alone; 
but  it  isn't  the  same  thing." 

"No,  it  could  not  be  the  same  thing,"  said 
Helen  gently;  "but  you  find  some  little  com- 
fort here.?" 

"Some  little  comfort,"  he  answered.  "One 
can't  expect  much." 

They  went  together  into  the  Cloisters,  and 
is  they  came  near  the  recess  where  the  old 
Alan  rested,  Helen  said: 

"Why,  he  has  fallen  asleep!  He  must 
have  been  very  tired.  And  he  has  dropped 
his  hat  and  stick.  Thank  you,  if  you  will 
put  them  down  there  I  will  watch  by  his 
side-until  he  wakes  up.  I  don't  suppose  he 
will  sleep  for  long." 


iii'^  AN  IDYLL  OF  LONDON 

The  workman  stooped  down  to  pick  up  the 
hat  and  stick,  and  glanced  at  the  sleeper. 
Something  in  the  sleeper's  countenance  ar- 
rested his  attention.  He  turned  to  the  girl 
and  saw  that  siie  was  watching  him, 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "What 
is  the  matter  with  you?" 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him, 
and  all  he  could  do  was  to  point  with  trem- 
bling hand  to  the  old  man. 

Helen  looked,  and  a  loud  cry  broke  from 
her  lips.     The  old  man  was  dead. 


THE  END. 


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